The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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February 2018

San Antonio, TX

“You’re Emily Buntley?” the kid from Uber asked.

The young woman nodded curtly, stepping forward to open the passenger door. “My bags?” she asked pointedly, her English accent crisp.

The driver scrambled out of the driver’s seat, and hefted her two suitcases into his trunk. As he grunted, Emily paused to check her phone, ignoring him until he was finished.

“Brilliant,” she complimented with a smile. “Do you mind if I ride up front with you? I’ve never been San Antonio; it would be fab to have a gander at your city.”

The young man paused to admire his passenger. Emily was beautiful and professional to the eye, an elegant seductress packaged in a tight-fitting business suit. At twenty-eight years old, she was still youthful and eager, but also projected a steely confidence that she only could have garnered from experience. She was both regal and sexy.

Emily’s long, brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, which accentuated her fair complexion and bright, blue eyes. Those eyes could be warm and inviting when she smiled, but cold and piercing when she was angered. Her long, graceful neck cascaded down to her small, compact body. A strict diet plus daily cardio had refined that small, compact body into a display of toned muscles, flawless posture, and tight curves. Shortly after college, Emily had enhanced those curves by treating herself to a breast augmentation, a subtle but perky refinement of her chest. She was breathtaking. As they passed by, men slid longing glances at this modern Helen of Troy.

“Sit up front?” the driver repeated, coming out of his momentary trance. “Um, sure. Hop in. Uh, I’m Dennis Talmen. By the way.”

Emily settled into the car, making sure to cross her legs in Dennis’ direction and then lean slightly towards him. Her miniskirt and low-cut blouse teased the boy’s eyes as he piled into the driver’s seat.

“Very good,” Emily smiled, pretending to be charmed. “Off we go, then.”

Dennis turned over the motor, and soon the little car was speeding down Route 281. His passenger gazed out at the skyline before them.

“Your first time to San Antonio?” Dennis asked.

“Yes, quite,” lied Emily, her voice light and playful. “Oh, it looks bloody beautiful!”

Dennis grinned, enjoying himself.

Downtown traffic was snarled, as usual, but the driver pulled up to 315 W Ashby Place in good time. Once again, Emily didn’t budge while Dennis hauled her luggage to the curb.

“Smashing,” the young woman said brightly, moving to stand before the boy. “You’ve been ace, Dennis.”

“Yeah,” the driver passively agreed. “Listen, if you’re bored after hours, and want someone to show you around town…“

“That’s fine, Dennis,” Emily said, carefully placing on hand on his elbow, the other on his shoulder. She gazed at him intently, employing a lingering smile. “You won’t mind a large tip, will you?”

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers before Dennis’s eyes. The boy didn’t seem to notice.

“Huh?” he mumbled. “Oh. Oh, no. No, thank you. You’re really awesome.” He grinned.

“Cheers, darling,” Emily smiled, and smoothly pulled her wheeled bags into the large office building.

Dennis stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring after her. It never occurred to his fogged mind that Emily had never actually paid him anything.

The National Headquarters of the American Hypnosis Foundation was up on the 17th floor, Suite C. On paper, the location looked like an impressive corporate address. In reality, Suite 17-C was little more than two neglected rooms, crammed with boxes of promotional material and a few folding chairs. One ancient IBM office telephone plugged into the wall was the only electronic equipment.

When the AHF ever used its “headquarters,” it was purely because the office building was conveniently located near the Gonzalez Convention Center, the more expensive hotels, and San Antonio’s business district. And even then, the two rooms were used only as a meeting site. And for storage. Clients nor business partners were never, ever, ever invited here. To do so would allow an image-deflating peek behind the AHF’s curtain.

Emily pulled her suitcases into the dilapidated little suite, scowling at the three men who were seated inside, waiting for her.

“You couldn’t have called ahead to say you’d be late?” Sean Bayer grumbled.

Emily ignored her colleague, shoving her suitcases against the cardboard cutout displays stacked against the wall. She found the last folding chair, then joined the circle. The men packed in their card game.

“Can we get this over with, then?” said Emily crossly, crossing her legs and pulling out her hairpin. “I’d really like to get to my hotel.”

“Fine,” Sean allowed. The President of the AHF, Sean was a barrel-chested man in his late fifties, already going gray in his temples and beard. The broad-shouldered fellow had a weather-beaten face and tough, gnarled hands, which created a threatening appearance if you happened to bump into him by accident. But the burly Texan was also a natural politician. When he turned on the charm, Sean could be the most attractive man for miles around.

The other two fellows, Hank and Trey, cast silent but appreciative stares at Emily’s tight little body. But cowed by Sean’s dominating presence, neither said a word.

These four were the entire professional staff of the American Hypnosis Foundation, a nationwide organization that pretended to be a giant in their field. The three men lived in Texas; Emily in Boston.

The AHF worked hard to appear as if it were a legitimate, patient-centric hypnotherapy research institute. By luck and sheer bluffing, they had inserted themselves into the American health care industry. No-one had bothered to investigate the impressive-sounding accomplishments they trumpeted from their website.

In truth, Sean, Hank, Trey, and Emily had not one psychological credential between themselves. What they lacked in education and concern for genuine hypnotherapy, they made up in brazenness, natural talent, and sheer greed. The AHF existed only to line their pockets. The well-being of the hypnotists they certified—to say nothing of the patients in their care—meant nothing to them.

“Alright,” Sean rumbled, producing a clipboard. “We’ve got less than three months before our media push. I need to finalize the training schedules. Then you three will have to start doing the PR rounds.”

Emily sighed, not bothering to mask her displeasure.

Sean ignored her insolence. “What makes sense to me is this: Hank, you’ll teach Clinical Hypnosis. Same lecture slides from last year. Trey? You’ll do the three intermediate classes.”

“Cool,” Trey acknowledged. “You care what I put in the curriculum this year?”

Sean paused, thinking. “No conversational inductions,” he ordered. “I don’t like that crap.”

“Conversational inductions?” Hank said. “What the fuck are those?”

“Its an Ericksonian technique,” explained Trey, stealing another look at Emily, who was engrossed on her phone. “You hypnotize someone in a conversation using code words and passive techniques. They never realize what you’re doing, and then—“ He snapped his fingers. “…they’re under.”

“Its total bollocks,” Emily pronounced. She shot an acid glare at Trey, who looked away from her breasts a second too late.

“Just go light on the touchy-feely stuff, will ya?” Sean said to Trey. “Thanks.”

“So… I’ll be teaching Advanced Techniques, then?” Emily said pointedly.

“No,” Sean replied firmly. “I need you to do Intro Hypno again.”

“What?” the brown-haired woman fumed. She set down her phone. “Again?!?”

The teaching assignments were always a point of contention for Emily. Five years in a row now, she’d been stuck with Introductory Hypnosis, purely because she was the hot girl with an irresistible English accent. When potential AHF suckers… uh… er, students looked at Emily, they felt invited and reassured. To women, she was the refined sister they’d always wanted. To men, she was the Bond girl they desired in bed. Whenever Sean promoted Emily as the Intro Hypno instructor, enrollments went up twenty percent.

“And what’s wrong with Intro Hypno?” Sean glowered at his British colleague.

“The returns on that class are rubbish, Sean,” Emily said, crossing her arms. “Can’t we renegotiate my rate?”

When Sean had first created AHF University, he’d lured his instructors aboard by promising them a cut from every student’s tuition. For every hopeless sap who plunked down $400 for Intro Hypno, Emily received $50. The rate was so low because the lesson plans had been drawn up years ago; this course required no prep work whatsoever. But the brown-haired woman hungered for the more advanced classes, where the take was much higher.

“No, we can’t,” Sean said firmly. “The rates are the rates.”

“This is because I’m the woman, isn’t it?” Emily snarled.

“And you’re good at it,” AHF’s president sneered, his grin more condescending than usual.

“Sean,” interjected Emily, “you really have to up those rates. If you want to retain me, that is. I’ve been speaking with the NGH and AHA.”

Hank and Trey cleared their throats quietly and pretended not to have heard this subtle threat. The NGH (National Guild of Hypnotists) and AHA (American Hypnosis Association) were legitimate hypnotherapy organizations, organizations that actually cared about the healing power of hypnosis. Organizations that wanted to help people.

“Really?” said Sean, his face unreadable.

Emily cocked one eyebrow.

Sean passed a hand over his mouth, studying the British woman. “Go on, then,” he challenged her. “Jump ship. Good luck to you.”

He’d called her bluff. The NGH or AHA wouldn’t hire a con artist like Emily. Never! She was all glamor and sparkle, but offered absolutely nothing of tangible benefit to their members.

Emily’s neck stiffened. “Fine,” she said tersely. “I’ll do Intro. But next year, we’ll renegotiate.”

“Maybe,” smirked Sean, returning to his clipboard. “Now, the PR schedules…”

To drum up as much revenue as possible, the AHF staff spent the next three months schmoozing at every job expo, career fair, educational open house, and employment seminar in the Southwest. AHF would set up a flashy booth, and then press the flesh with the curious or desperate souls who wandered by.

Emily, with her stunning looks and natural charm, was in her element here. “Oh, I absolutely think you would be a wonderful hypnotherapist,” she’d tell a surprised applicant, making sure to move in close, make eye contact, and touch them lightly on their forearm. “You have such a natural way with people. And I can tell you enjoy helping others, don’t you?”

Her whole presentation was based on glamor and sex appeal. Using subliminally-coded language, she’d reel in all sorts of people. Under her spell, they felt hopeful.

“But I don’t know anything about hypnosis!” many would exclaim.

“That’s quite alright,” Emily would assure them. “I knew myself nothing when I started out. But now I make a little shy of, hmm, $200,000 after taxes, and I cure people of their ailments. It’s such a rewarding career, trust me,” she’d add with a musical laugh.

That was when the lights of hope would flicker in her victim’s eyes. “And you,” Emily would then say, “why, you’d be a natural. I can always tell. Did you know that once they get their practice up and running, beginning hypnotherapists typically make…” Here she’d pause, as if calculating. “…between seventy to ninety thousand a year?”

And then she’d laugh once again, just as her applicant’s face lit up.

That “once they get their practice up and running” phrase is how she got you. What Emily never mentioned was that to get a new hypnosis practice started in Texas, Arizona, Colorado, or Utah, it cost a minimum of $200,000 to rent office space, place advertisements, and establish a credible reputation in your local community. Not to mention the governmental paperwork that you had to navigate. And the lawyer and insurance you had to retain as essential expenses. Acquiring the four hundred dollar AHF Hypnotist’s Certification was the least of your worries.

Nonetheless, Emily seduced plenty of future students. She was a certified genius at raking in those applicant fees.

Occasionally, Emily had to work a little harder for the money. A skeptic would resist her pitch. “I dunno…” they’d say, eyeing the AHF’s flashy banner, complete with glossy photos of happy, hypnotized patients. (Paid models.) “This guy once tried to hypnotize me in high school, but nothing happened.”

“Stand right here, please,” Emily would command instantly, the crack of authority in her voice.

Surprised, the skeptic would do exactly as she demanded.

“Now look here,” the brown-haired woman would say, holding two fingers before the person’s face. At the same time, she’d carefully lay her other hand on their shoulder. This created a false sense of intimacy, making them susceptible for the trickery that was about to strike.

“Focus on my fingertips,” she would say in a warm but rapid voice. “Focus only here, on my fingers and on my voice. Are you concentrating? Excellent. Focus even more intently. More intently.” With her other hand, she’d start to rock the victim, oh so gently. “Yes, well done. Focusing and concentrating. Beginning to relax. Focusing and concentrating. Relaxing so completely… When I click my fingers, you will close your eyes and find yourself in a calm and pleasant trance, yes.”

Then she’d snap, also while pressing the person’s shoulder, just a little. To their surprise, the victim’s eyes would fall shut and their faces would go blank.

“Excellent, bloody brilliant,” Emily would now say, leaning closer and speaking more intently. By this time, a small crowd would have formed, and she was always careful to wink at a young, awestruck man in her audience.

To her subject, she’d instruct: “Now, in your mind and imagination, I want you to visualize some important life goal. Something you’ve always wanted. Something you need to accomplish in your life. Don’t tell me what it is, but see it clearly in your mind. See yourself achieving this precious accomplishment. And now see how wonderful you feel once you scale this peak. See it now!” She’d snap her fingers in a random pattern, all which delivering this rapid patter.

“You see?” Emily would then tell the onlookers. “Hypnosis is safe, healing… and easy to master! With the right instruction, of course.” To the hypnotized person, she’d then say with a grin, “And that is why once you awaken, you will hurry to sign up for my AHF Introductory Hypnosis Training Course, and start reinventing the New You today!”

This always produced amused laughter, and Emily was certain to chuckle along. But she never removed the suggestion to enroll, either.