The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I cross the lobby of the Park Hyatt, faking a phone conversation. The concierge eyes me with suspicion, but doesn’t move to intercept me. I pop inside an elevator, and search for the button marked “Penthouse.” There it is.

Cards on the table. I’m an independent VIP escort, a call girl of the highest caliber. I service clients, and they pay me well. Very well. I’m good at what I do.

But let’s set some ground rules. Don’t you dare think of me as a hooker. Hookers stand on street corners and have no sense of taste. The proper term for what I do is “provider.” I provide a service, and the gentlemen I see are not “Johns” or “customers” or even “fellows.” They are “hobbyists.” To them, seeing providers is The Hobby, although no-one thinks of this like building a ship in a bottle. The hobbyists I see are my clients, and for an hour or two, I am their girlfriend. That’s how it is.

We providers and hobbyists exist in this secret underground of hotel rooms, with the occasional secondary apartment or luxury resort. Most hobbyists want an hour of my time for GFE sex. GFE is “girlfriend experience”, which means I kiss, I have full intercourse, I cuddle, I feign interest in their interests, and then I leave. They leave my donation in an unmarked envelope, and pretend not to notice when I slip it into my purse.

Do I enjoy what I do?

Truthfully… sometimes yes, sometimes no. A lot of my clients are sweet guys. A little weird, a little overconfident of their sexual powers, desperately lonely. Most are middle aged, overweight, balding. But they do their best to look (and smell) good for me. The sex is okay, even routine. Occasionally one of them surprises me and I am pleasured too.

Although I’ve only been escorting for three months, I’ve found that the key to doing what I do is to never do anything you’ll regret, and always get the money. You may think this obvious, but it took me a couple of “dates” to realize that these are the only two hard and fast rules I need.

Obviously the money is why I’m here. I have over seventy-five thousand dollars in college loans plus you-don’t-want-to-know-how-much in credit card debt. On my day job alone, (paralegal) it would take me thirty-five years to pay it all off. If I can keep providing (and keep my nose clean) for another four years or so, I can break even. If only.

I sigh again. The elevator is nearing the penthouse level. I adjust my boobs, making sure my cleavage is showing and my little black dress is smooth over my abs. I have great abs, may I say.

I’m about to meet a new client, and this is always nerve-wracking. He emailed me from a private account, requesting multiple hours. “Depending on how well we get along,” he said. His references checked out, but I’m still nervous. If he’s a cop, I won’t know until its too late.

I step out of the elevator. Before me is a single door, simply marked “PENTHOUSE.” I take a deep breath and knock. A quiet, polite knock.

Footsteps approach the door from within the penthouse. My heart pounds. The door opens.

Standing before me is a fifty-something man. He is bald, big gut, wearing glasses. His haircut is neat, and I can tell he is freshly shaved. He is wearing a white, fluffy hotel bathrobe, with an equally fluffy towel about his shoulders. His feet are bare; I’m guessing he’s naked beneath that robe.

“Hi,” I say, using my best smile, “I’m Taylor.” (Not my real name.) “May I come in?”

The man offers a curt smile and gestures me in. I slip through the doorway, and allow him to take my coat.

Wow. I’m in a large foyer lined with marble columns. A chandelier twinkles overhead; a round marble table with a huge floral arrangement dominates the center of the space. Those flowers can’t be more than six hours old. Beyond, I see an expansive, sunken sitting room.

Holy shit. My client is majorly rich. I like him already.

“Nice place you have here,” I say playfully.

“Come on in,” the man tells me, popping my coat into the hall closet, which is bigger than my apartment’s kitchen. “I’m Roger.”

Roger leads me into the sitting room, complete with full bar, grand piano, walls of bookcases, and a panoramic skyline view of downtown. Roger clicks a remote control in his palm, and the deep velvet curtains slide over the windows. A fire springs up in the fireplace. Very suave.

He gets down to business. “Well now,” he says, occupying one of the leather sofas, “let’s take a look at you.”

He plucks something from his pocket and thrusts it at me. I take it, and am wowed to see five hundred in cash.

“Take off everything, please,” he instructs me. “Then turn around for me. Slowly.”

Very well, then, all systems go! Now that I know he can’t possibly be a cop, I can relax. I toss my little purse on the sofa, then unzip and slowly shed my dress. Then my bra, then finally my panties. I do this all while using my best seductive expression. “You want the shoes off, too?” I ask coyly.

“Shhh!” he admonishes me. “Turn around.”

I revolve silently, shifting my weight a little to move my hips in a sexy motion. I feel his eyes and his imagination crawl over me.

Let me pause here and tell you that I am in no way, shape, or form looking forward to sexual contact with this man. But this is the job. I am here to be his plaything, his girl, his fuckbuddy, his girlfriend, or the world’s loosest slut if he wants. My personal feelings here are not relevant. I kinda think of myself as an actress, playing a role. Once our time is up and I have his money, and I go back to my life. Until then, my body is his.

“Mmmm,” Rogers comments. “You are gorgeous.”

“Let me pleasure you, baby,” I say in a husky voice, and drop to my knees before him. Before he can react, I slide his robe back and discover that, yes indeed, he’s naked underneath.

But… what the hell? His hairy penis is flaccid.

Confused, I glance up at Roger. I would have thought that my little peep show would have aroused something. Is he gay?

Roger scowls at me and pulls the robe closed. “Sit down,” he rumbles, and I sense I’ve fucked up. I scoot back, and then sit gingerly on the sofa, a foot away. I feel a little weird putting my bare ass on this rich leather.

My new client takes a moment to compose his thoughts. I wait patiently.

“So…” he begins awkwardly, “I have this… specific fetish. It a weird one, just be warned.”

“Okay,” I say. I hope I sound understanding.

“I want to make you a proposition,” continues Roger. “I want you to be my dedicated slave.”

Inside, I groan a little. Coolly, I say, “I can do the master/slave roleplay thing for you. But we’ll have to go above my standard rate for this.”

I charge $400 per hour, with discounts after the second hour. For master/slave, I’ve already decided I’ll add an extra $200 per hour for Roger. He clearly has the money.

“Of course I’ll raise your rate,” harrumphs Roger. “You’ll be taken care of. But here’s the real catch: we will not be roleplaying.”

I blink. “Okay…” I say.

“I’ve done this fetish with other providers,” he goes on, “and I understand that its not for most girls.” he clears his throat a little. “Your online profile says, ‘I am open to new fantasies, and I like trying new experiences with the right gentleman.’ Correct?”

I nod. Wow, he memorized my webpage? Most of the stuff on my online profile is stuff I made up on the spot, but I more-or-less meant it. More-or-less.

“That’s why I picked you,” Roger explains. “My fetish is a hypnosis fetish. This means I can’t get it up unless I’m fucking a woman in a hypnotic trance.”

…what? I think. The smile on my face freezes.

“Its not for every provider,” Roger admits, “but I thought from your profile that you might be open to this.”

Before I can politely tell Roger to go fuck himself, he says, “Here’s how this will work. I’ve already given you a donation plus tip for just coming here. If this isn’t for you, no problem, take your money and just go.”

“If you agree and let me hypnotize you,” he continues, “I’ll pay you $1000 for the induction.” He mistakes my stunned expression for confusion. “The induction is the process of actually hypnotizing someone. It takes about ten minutes. If you agree but I fail to hypnotize you after ten minutes, I pay you your one hour donation plus a thousand. And that’s the end of it.”

While I am still revolted, the businesswoman side of me is beginning to see possibilities. A thousand bucks for ten minutes’ time? That catches my attention.

Stalling so I can think, I ask, “So… if I get hypnotized… what will you make me do?”

Roger shifts in his seat, and I realize he is getting hard just talking about this. ”If you go under and go deep,” he tells me, “I’ll keep you for a few hours. I won’t lie to you: This is a power thing. Once you’re under my spell, you will think and say and believe and do whatever I command you to. You will truly be my slave. Not roleplaying. Real mind bondage. Then, when we our agreed time is through, I will release you. Of course,” he adds quickly, “all my suggestions are temporary.”

He pauses, studying me carefully.

“That’s the fetish,” he says. “Most girls that I do this with are uncomfortable at first, but then they begin to like it. There are pleasurable effects to being hypnotized.”

Uh-huh, I think.

“Which brings me back to the money situation,” Roger says, leaning forward. “So if you agree and you are successfully hypnotized, I will keep you tonight for two hours. And I’ll make your donation $25,000.”

My eyes bug out of their sockets. Did I hear that right?

“Also,” Roger adds, “I will probably want to see you multiple times. Good providers who can perform for me while in under hypnosis are worth seeing again. I’ll hypnotize you on all of our dates. $25,000 each time. Plus usual deposits. Maybe additional bonuses depending on how you take to my suggestions.”

My thoughts are flying, counting money in overload. Oh my God... in three nights’ work, I could...

I could wipe our my debt, ALL OF IT. I could put a down payment on a condo. I could replace my piece of shit Subaru. I could begin a Masters program. I could...

Oh shit, I’m feeling lightheaded. I have to stay grounded.

“But let me be clear,” Roger warns, raising a finger. “Only accept this proposal if you are willing to be hypnotized to be my slave. Otherwise, its not worth it to me.”

My head is spinning. “Baby,” I say coyly. “Can’t we work something out? I could pretend to by your hypnotized victim.” I part my legs slowly, and move to finger my own pussy and nipple. Maybe if I titillate him…

“No,” Roger says firmly. “It has to be real hypnosis. Or no deal.”

I open my mouth, close it, then open it again.

Roger scowls. “Why don’t you take thirty minutes?” he growls. “Think it over. But don’t take too long; I really want to fuck tonight.”

Roger excuses himself, and I am momentarily left alone in that expansive sitting room. My mind and heart are racing. The money is so good, maybe if I can just...

Just what? Let Roger take over my mind for some perverted kicks? What would he make me do? What if he commanded me to tell him my real name and number? What if he programmed me to refuse the money? What if, once he’s in my brain, he decides never to let me out of his power? What if this fucks me up forever???

Get a grip, I tell myself. I don’t know anything about hypnosis. but.... Didn’t my psych professor tell us that you can’t use hypnosis to control people? Otherwise, hypnotists would be running the planet.

Yeah. Hypnosis can’t control you. That sounds right. But... I’m not certain.

I need more information. I dig my phone out from my purse and start Googling “hypnosis.” Wikipedia is useless. YouTube is useless. I’m getting nowhere fast.

Wait, I suddenly think. My buddy Trey, he was hypnotized at a comedy club, right? Yes! Yes, he was. My fingers trembling, I pull up Trey’s contact info and call him. I have less than five minutes before Roger wants his answer.

This is so fucking weird. Here I am, butt-naked, frantically calling a friend to see if it safe to let my new sicko client mesmerize me. When I was in high school, this is not how I pictured my adult life would come out.

After ten agonizing seconds, Trey picks up. “Hey!” he exclaims, happy to hear from me.

“Hey Trey,” I reply, hoping I sound casual. “S’up?”

“Not too much,” Trey tells me. “Listen, Delilah, Gordy, and their friends are doing wings at Nano’s. I’m headed down there. You in?”

“Sorry, Trey,” I apologize. “Listen—”

“Aw man,” Trey says, “you used to be up for this kind of stuff. Maybe next week? Hey, did you hear—”

“Listen, Trey,” I cut in. “I need to ask you something. You were hypnotized at that club last month, right?”

Trey hesitates. “Uh… yeah,” he replies.

I’m desperate for answers. “What was it like?” I blurt out.

“What was it like?” Trey echoes. “I dunno... it was pretty wild.”

“Did the hypnotist... make you do anything embarrassing?” I ask lamely.

Trey sounds wary. “Well, yeah… but I knew he would when I went up on stage. I, like, thought I was holding a bunny rabbit, and then later he made me dance like the Thunder from Down Under. Heh. I also sang a rap song. It was really embarrassing, but only after.”

“What do you mean, ‘after’?” I press.

“Well, while I was hypnotized, I had to do whatever he told me to do,” Trey explained.

I suddenly want to throw up.

“Hey,” Trey says pointedly, “why are you asking?”

Trey has no idea I escort. I have to cook up a convincing lie on the spot. “I’m out for drinks with co-workers,” I fib. “This guy from the home office wants to hypnotize me. For laughs.”

“Oh,” Trey says. “You’re probably okay then. Just relax and go with it.”

I glance at the grandfather clock. My time is up.

“But...” I say desperately, “what if I go under, but then want to resist what he tells me to do?”

“You won’t want to resist,” Trey assures me. “He can make you do embarrassing stuff, but that’s it. Once you come out, you’re in control again.”

I hear Roger approaching from down the hall.

“I gotta go,” I tell Trey, and disconnect. I’ve made my decision.

I sit on the sofa, still naked, feet on the floor, hands on my knees. Roger stands beside me, and I can’t believe it, but he’s swinging a pocket watch before my eyes. The only sounds in the room are the clock, the crackling of the fire, and his voice.

“Focus your eyes on the watch,” Roger tells me. His voice is calm and even. “As you do, your eyes, your arms, your legs, your muscles will all feel heavy, relaxed. Allow yourself to relax. Follow my voice and relax.”

So far, nothing is happening. Maybe Roger is crap at this? I think hopefully. Maybe I can fake myself through this?

“Breathe in, deeply,” Roger tells me, and I realize he is watching me closely. I breathe in.

“Good,” he commends. ”Now breathe out, but from your stomach.”

I can’t believe it, but he spends a couple of minutes telling me just how to breathe. From the belly, not the shoulders. I comply, and he makes a comment about how my breathing is growing slower. He’s right.

About now I begin to feel like a rag doll. Roger’s voice goes on and on, but I don’t want to move or do anything. Oh, I could get up and walk away if I wanted to, but I’m beginning to feel warm and comfortable. The pocket watch begins to blur before my eyes.

“I’ll begin counting down from ten to one,” Roger says conversationally. “And as I do, your relaxation doubles with each number.”

He counts, while telling me how relaxed I feel. I do feel relaxed. I blink slowly, and wonder if I’m being hypnotized and this is what it feels like.

Roger counts another number—I can’t remember which one—and my eyes close. They won’t reopen. At first I am tempted to force them open so I can keep my gaze on that watch... but somehow it doesn’t feel important. I feel my head sag forward as my body slouches. I’m melting into this sofa.

Roger is going on and on, but I am no longer consciously listening. I feel warm, tingly, detached. I have two parallel sensations, one of my body floating through the clouds, the other of turning into a jellyfish and floating within a great current. I feel both immense and infinitesimal at the same time.

I hear Roger very clearly. His voice is in my mind, intertwining with my thoughts. He asks me questions: what are my secret sexual fantasies? Where do I live? What do I do for a living? Do I have a regular lover? Even though I feel detached from my body, I answer him out loud, freely and without hesitation. The answers flow from my brain to my lips, and I have no power to stop them. Nor do I want to.

Now Roger is sending me even deeper. He is giving me instructions, commands which I must obey later. I am unconcerned. This feeling is liberating, and my problems are a million lightyears away.

I will obey.

“WHEN YOU NEXT LOOK AT ME, YOU WILL FIRMLY BELIEVE I AM YOUR FAVORITE SEXY MOVIE STAR. YOU WILL BE TOTALLY CONVINCED I AM THIS PERSON, AND THAT I HAVE THE WORLD’S LARGEST COCK. AND YOU WILL BE POSITIVELY DESPERATE TO FUCK ME. YOU WILL BE SO HORNY, YOU WILL FOLLOW AND OBEY ALL OF MY VERBAL COMMANDS. I WILL BE YOUR MASTER, YOU MY SLAVE.

“NOW I COUNT UP FROM ONE TO FIVE. ONE THE COUNT OF FIVE, YOU WILL AWAKEN. YOU WILL REMEMBER NOTHING, BUT ALL OF MY COMMANDS AND SUGGESTIONS WILL STILL BE IN YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS. YOU WILL FOLLOW AND OBEY THEM ALL. ONE… TWO… THREE…! FOUR…!”

“Five!”

I hear Roger snapping his fingers, and my eyes blink open. What just happened?

I’m not sure, but I think my mind wandered for a second. Roger was about to hypnotize me, I remember that much. But somehow I doubt it will have much effect-

Holy shit! I glance up at Roger and I realize for the first time that Dwayne Johnson, yes, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, really DWAYNE THE FUCKING ROCK JOHNSON, is standing right fucking there, smirking down at me. He’s doing the eyebrow thing and everything.

How…? I’m dumbfounded. Now that I’m thinking about it, I guess that Roger was Dwayne Johnson the whole time, I just never realized it… until now? Holy shit. How did I not see that Roger was Dwayne Johnson earlier?

It doesn’t matter.

I look Dwayne Johnson up and down. He is wearing that white robe, and Omigod, his penis must be a foot and a half long. I’m not shitting you! That long. I gasp, despite myself.

“Hey there,” Dwayne Johnson says to me. His smirk grows bigger. So does his erection.

I stand, feeling almost dizzy. My trembling fingertips touch his pectorals and then his abs, and Holy Christ, they are all like marble. I trace their outlines. You know that perfect canyon of muscle and sinew between the pecs? Dwayne Johnson’s is deep and nearly six inches in length. The man is chiseled. He may have been sculpted.

As I press against this Olympian, my hands brush under his robe and across his incredibly broad shoulders. Dwayne Johnson’s cock is pressing against me. I am so wet.

It all makes perfect sense now. Dwayne Johnson wanted to see me, but he couldn’t call me and say, “Hi, I’m Dwayne Johnson.” So he pretended to be this Roger guy, and well… I ain’t complaining.

Our lips touch and suddenly I can’t help myself. I greedily suck at his mouth, feeling his tongue caress mine. I press my entire body against him, and I am thrilled beyond belief when those godlike hands begin to explore me.

I want to fuck him. Now.

Tearing off his white robe, I press my nude body against his nude body. “Where’s the bedroom?” I pant, all while biting at his neck. Oh god, am I in heat.

Dwayne Johnson leads me down a long corridor, and soon we are in the master bedroom suite. “Get on the bed,” he says gruffly.

I leap onto the mattress, roll onto my back, and then spread my legs wide. Superwide. I want Dwayne Johnson to look into my wet pussy and go crazy.

But Dwayne Johnson doesn’t leap on me like I want him to. “Get on all fours,” he orders me.

“Yes master,” I respond. Without thinking, I do as he commands. My ass is facing him now.

I hear Dwayne Johnson unwrap a condom and put it on. Then those wonderful hands are gingerly cupping my buttocks. I gasp in pleasure, an involuntary pant of helplessness and desire. I am so horny, I can’t think straight.

Up until now, I’ve always hated doggie style. Com’on, its demeaning to women. Seriously, you have to prostrate yourself like a fucking dog while the man pumps you from behind. Where do you think the phrase “make so-and-so my bitch” came from? And I have always refused to do anal. I get that it may be your bag, but personally? Its so not for me.

But now, now that Dwayne Fucking Johnson is fondling my ass, now that he is my master and I am his slave, now that that magnificent record-breaking cock is mere inches from my tush, I can hardly hold it together. I want him inside me. I don’t care which hole.

He dips just the tip into my soaked veejay, like a painter dabbing just a bit of his brush into the paint.. Ohhhhhhhhhhh god, I almost cum at the merest touch. I cry out in delight.

He dips in and out, again and again. He is holding my ass cheeks pretty firmly now, so I can’t move. But I don’t want to. I want him to plunge in. All the way in. Tiny tremors rock my entire body.

“Oh please, master,” I whine. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me fu—“

And then he grabs my hips and rams in, all the way in. Oh, I am in sexual heaven, I can’t believe it. I feel his tip deep within my vagina and his torso slap up against my butt. His hands jump forward to grab my hips, and he pulls me back, a swift, firm jerk. I am impaled on his dick and I love it. I laugh and squeal with sheer pleasure. I cum on the spot.

He rams in me, again and again and again and again and again and again. He is like a heavy machine gun, so fast. Oh god, I never want him to stop. With his strong hands piloting me, I am completely immobilized, unable to break free, yet completely happy to be imprisoned like this. I am sure I am going cross-eyed as he fucks me even harder.

I babble in sextalk, sometimes screaming out loud as another orgasm blossoms. It is like he is pumping multiple orgasms into me at light speed. The bed itself moans beneath us.

I hear him grunt and then his hands shake as he cums. His breathing becomes short and clipped as he pumps me still faster and harder… and then…

He stops. He is deep, deep within me. Breathing hard, he is still clutching my hips. I feel the weight of his torso leaning against me. There is beaded sweat all down my back.

We both remain there, heaving for breath, neither of us speaking or moving. My god… I can squeeze my pussy muscles and I feel him deep within me. He came and he’s still hard.

After a moment, he slowly withdraws and releases me. I immediately collapse onto the mattress, a marionette with strings cut.

With a long sigh, he flops down next to me. I weakly pull myself next to him and begin kissing him. It is a grateful kiss… I have never had such mind-splitting sex with a client.

Ever.

We lie and kiss. His hands come to life and pulls me atop that all-muscle body. I arch my back as he caresses my tits, my shoulders, my shoulder blades, my ass again, my nipples. I never want him to stop.

Oh god. He’s hard again. Rock hard. We never even had a chance to pull off the condom. I do this now (he gasps as my fingers dance over his penis) and roll a second condom on.

Taking change, he positions me again into doggie and this time, rams right in. I am still wet, and I love his sexual aggressiveness. Again I cum. Again he cums too.

And that is our night together. Over the next two hours, my master and I do nothing but fuck each other. I am amazed by his dexterity. I suck his cock, do missionary, do it standing, do cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, side positions, you name it. I can’t get enough. He can’t get enough.

I am so happy he enslaved me.