The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

AHF signed two hundred and fifty-seven students for Introductory Hypnosis in 2018; that worked out to a little less than $13,000 in Emily’s pocket. Chump change, but she schemed to introduce a “lab fee,” a meaningless change which boosted her net somewhat. Sean warned her that he wouldn’t permit that kind of shenanigan in future classes.

For the class itself, AHF rented the ballroom at the Hotel Contessa. There was a small sea of chairs, and a raised platform stage for Emily. She requested a podium, body mike, large screen, and a projector. Catering was refused; it was an expense she didn’t want to bother with. The students could bring their own damn lunches.

On the first day of class, nine AM, the ballroom was filled to near-capacity. The small army of AHF students squeezed into the metal chairs, excited to be learning something as mysterious and bankable as hypnotism. People chatted and swapped phone numbers. Everyone was convinced they were about to become the next stars of the hypnosis world.

And then, with the ballroom speakers blaring Avicii’s “Levels,” Emily made her entrance. She strode in from the rear of the ballroom, greeting individual students with joyous smiles and handshakes. Everyone stood and applauded. She was like a sexy president arriving to address Congress. The first day of class had a boisterous feeling already.

It took a few minutes before Emily reached the stage. She looked sharp, wearing a crisp beige Tagliatore business suit with matching, high-heeled Jimmy Choo’s. Her hair and makeup were precise, a finely-designed work of sheer art. It had taken hours of exhausting work to pull this look together.

“Well, hullo, hullo, hullo everyone!” the British instructor said grandly, clipping on her body mike. “Welcome to the first day of your success in hypnotherapy!”

She beamed like a proud mother, and the class burst into excited applause once again. Emily laughed.

“Just a brief reminder,” she noted, making eye contact about the vast room. “There is to be no video photography, please. Just take notes by hand.”

Of course, a few students would video-film her anyway, and some of those clips would make their way to YouTube. Truth be told, Emily secretly wanted this to happen. Online amateur videos helped convince future students that this was a course worth taking. And helped raise Emily’s online profile.

“Now, let’s get right to it, shall we?” the pretty instructor said, assuming command of her podium. She activated her laptop. The first lecture slide appeared on the giant screen. “You all should find your course booklets under your seats. Everyone turn to Page Five of the first book? Smashing.”

And from there, the young woman launched into Lesson One: The History of Hypnosis.

To become a great hypnotherapist, one needs many things.

Of course, it is critical to learn the precise words that induce a hypnotic trance, to recognize the symptoms of the trance state, to form properly-worded suggestions, and to gauge a patient’s response to hypnotic stimuli.

But the two things of far greater importance for the beginning hypnotism student are to have a dedicated, patient instructor who is willing to offer feedback and answer questions. And then, the student needs to practice for hours and hours and hours, working with real, hypnotized people. Hypnosis cannot be learned passively; the skill must be developed by regularly doing it actively.

Emily knew all of this from her own personal experience, of course. But she cared not one whit for her student’s education. Oh, no. Her lesson plans were stuffed with useless lard—like the History of Hypnosis—before she delivered the absolute barest minimum of hypnotism instruction.

The beautiful instructor cared about three things: First, that she collected her bloated paycheck. Second, when her Intro Hypno students realized their coursework was hopelessly inadequate for actually treating patients, perhaps sixty percent of them signed up for the next AHF course. And third, nobody sued. Emily’s course was the cruelest of scams.

After lunch, Emily put up some slides with basic Hypnosis vocabulary. Terms like “Somnambulism,” “Suggestion,” “Autoresponse,” “Convincer,” “Modality,” and “Critical Bypass” were flashed across the projector screen. Everyone struggled to scribble down these precious words.

This ate up another hour. Then Emily shifted gears.

“Let’s get into some real hypnotism, eh?” she merrily asked her class. “So, may I have a volunteer?”

Two hundred and fifty-seven people shrank down in their seats. Five hundred and fourteen eyes suddenly darted down to examine the carpet.

“Oh come now,” scoffed Emily, drawing a folding chair to the front of the stage. “Not a brave soul among you? Very well, then.”

The brown-haired instructor scanned over the sea of heads, pursing her lips. “You, sir,” she commanded, pointing.

A poor fellow in the third row looked at her fearfully.

“Yes, you,” Emily insisted. “Up here, now. Straightaway. There’s a good bloke.”

The man, a short, thin chap in his early fifties, shuffled up onto the stage. His face was gray and his legs trembled. His classmates all drew a collective sigh of relief, thrilled they were not the Chosen Sacrifice.

“Your name, sir?” asked Emily.

“R-R-Rodney Krannitz,” the man replied, sitting in the chair. He swallowed visibly.

“Very good, Rodney,” complimented Emily. To the class, she announced, “Now, follow along in your handbooks. Page Seventeen. I’ll be using the Dr. Chambers Induction, which should take me about two minutes. You’ll be hypnotizing one another with this same induction later today.”

The class hurriedly opened their books.

“Very well, Rodney,” Emily rumbled, leaning forward to place a small hand on her victim’s shoulder. “Stare at me, please.”

The beautiful instructor deliberately rested her weight on her upstage leg, which forced her to straighten her back and raise her head. This made her bottom stick out a little, and opened her cleavage as well. This little display of sex appeal made her alluring and distracting, and thus more effective as a mind-warper. Hapless Rodney was already gaping up into her glittering eyes, helpless in her command.

“Concentrate on me, Rodney,” Emily instructed, quietly snapping her fingers in a random pattern. “Relax. Feel yourself relaxing, more and more. Every time you blink, you go deeper into relaxation. So much deeper. Relax. Relax even more.”

The man’s eyes were already glassy and losing focus. Milking her performance, Emily let her patter ramble on, although she knew she already had Rodney’s mind. Still, building a little suspense never hurt. She wanted to class to know she was the uncontested master here.

“And now, Rodney,” she said when she’d had enough, “you will SLEEP.”

And she snapped her fingers, once. Loudly.

Like a marionette with strings cut, poor Rodney collapsed forward. His chest and arms flopped over his lap. He was silent and still.

An impressed murmur rippled through the spellbound class.

“There,” Emily said matter-of-factly, straightening to her full height. “Rodney here is now in a deep, somnambulistic trance. He’ll find it quite impossible to resist any suggestion that I place within his mind. Now, who can tell me why this is?”

No-one dared answer.

“It is because I have achieved critical bypass,” the instructor trumpeted. The last two words she was careful to over-enunciate in the Queen’s English: “ Crit—TEE—cull BYE-paaaas.” And then, just to be sure she was heard, Emily repeated the term twice more.

“Now, who can tell me,” cried the instructor, “what is critical bypass, and why it is so important?”

Again, the great hall was silent.

Emily tossed her hair, slightly. “Critical bypass simply means that I have relaxed Rodney’s body and mind to the point where my suggestions have bypassed the critical section of his mind. He no longer has the ability to evaluate what makes sense and what is complete bananas. Everything I tell him is equally convincing and demands his complete obedience. Observe…”

Emily touched Rodney on the shoulder. “Rodney, love, when I click my fingers, you will awaken,” she announced. “You will discover that you are, in fact, this class’s hypnosis instructor and you must teach them about critical bypass, because it is so very, very important. Understand? Brilliant.” She snapped her fingers, quite loudly.

Instantly, Rodney sat up, an expression of momentary confusion on his face. He rose to his feet.

“Now, class,” he cried out in a fake English accent, “you must learn CRITICAL BYPASS. It is so important, its… like… the most important thing ever! You have to hypnotize people with Critical Bypass. Get me?”

The class laughed, although half of them twittered in nervous chuckles.

“Quite right, Rodney, well done,” Emily smiled. She waved a hand before her subject’s eyes. “FREEZE.”

Rodney immediately became a statue. His eyes bulged and his mouth remained wide open.

“Observe,” Emily said. “Even the most absurd suggestions are immediately accepted. Rodney: When I click my fingers, you are no longer a hypnosis instructor, but a large swamp bird.” She snapped her fingers, right before her volunteer’s eyes.

“Caw!” Rodney crowed, “Caw, caw!” He tilted his head, then flapped his way across the stage to hunt for frogs.

“You see?” Emily said smoothly. “The critical part of Rodney’s conscious mind is bypassed. And when he hears my instructions, he simply cannot distinguish between what is rational and what is ridiculous.”

“Now…” continued the brown-haired instructor. “Why do we care? Why is critical bypass so important in hypnosis?”

This time, someone attempted an answer. “…because it allows you to control a person’s mind?”

“No,” cried Emily. “No, we hypnotists do not control. No, no. No, we strive for Critical Bypass because it allows us to give our clients the treatment they crave.”

She walked to the very lip of the stage for emphasis . “Without critical bypass,” she thundered, “the hypnotic suggestions you give your clients will be useless. Absolutely useless. Achieving critical bypass is the difference between success or failure in hypnotism.”

Her students scurried to write that down. Rodney squawked and flapped his arms some more.

Two year prior, a few former AHF graduates had filed a class-action lawsuit against the company, claiming fraud. They had been right to do so, of course, as their hypnosis educations were worthless. The only thing that saved AHF was that Emily had causally mentioned “critical bypass” in a single lecture slide, and the Elman textbook considered bypass to be the key of all hypnotism. The trial judge, baffled by all the hypnosis terminology, ruled in Emily’s favor.

From then on, the brown-haired scam artist was taking no chances. From that class on out, she drilled her students on critical bypass, if only so to protect herself from future lawsuits.

Critical bypass is a real condition in hypnosis, to be sure. What Emily was not telling her students is that it cannot be taught. Achieving bypass in a hypnotic subject is an instinctive art. The right hypnotist, armed with sharpened instinct and much experience, can guide their subjects into that state most of the time.

But a rank beginner? Asking a first-time hypnosis student to achieve critical bypass is like asking someone to perform at Carnegie Hall after just a single piano lesson.

Emily did a few more demonstrations with poor Rodney, before releasing him and then quickly reviewing the highlights of the Dr. Chambers hypnotic induction.

“Now,” she told her students, “you will work in groups of two. One person will be the hypnotist, the other the subject. Come now, this is not the time to be shy. You all must do this. Hypnotists, put your subjects into trance, then walk them out. Just that. Then switch roles. Everyone understand?”

The class dissolved into messy chaos as strangers paired off and attempted to hypnotize one another. Emily listened absently from the stage, sipping water and checking her phone.

Of course, the students’ hypnosis sessions were complete disasters. Those playing the role of hypnotist clutched their induction scripts, reading the precious words in shaky, uninspiring monotones: “And now you will relax your arms they feel so relaxed yes you are doing so very well now you relax your legs yes very good you are going into hypnosis now very nice now relax your…” and so on. Those playing the role of subject sat and squirmed, hopelessly distracted by all the noise around them.

Emily allowed the chaos to stagger on, unconcerned. Her social media feed was particularly juicy that day.

The instructor paused to check her online videos. Last year, she’d begin posting little tutorials where she’d hypnotize a “volunteer” (paid actor) and use them to demonstrate Hypnosis Technique X or Y or Z. She was careful to make the Hypnotism look easy, yet not give away any actual hypnosis secrets. She always dressed in tight blouses, miniskirts, heels, and pinned-up hair, giving her that Sexy Librarian look. It was shameless, but it drove up her numbers. And, she hoped, lured men to take her class.

The latest comments were sexist and degrading: “Goddamn, u so hot Emily, u can hypno me anytime, LOL!” And: “Wow, I love your videos, can you hypnotize a hot blonde with big breasts? Thx.” And then: “This is so hot god can you do another hypno vid in yur bra and panties”

Well, at least she’d hit 25,000 subscribers. That was something.

“Uh… excuse me, Emily?” A mousy woman student was trying to get her attention.

Emily sighed. Usually at the twenty-minute mark of this lesson, the class started to realize they were doing something wrong. Then she was inundated with requests to watch their blunders.

Emily tucked her phone into her micro purse and forced a smile. “Did you achieve critical bypass?” she asked the woman.

“Er…”

“Try again,” Emily advised firmly. “You just need more practice.”

Day One of Introductory Hypnosis wrapped up without a single student managing to hypnotize a classmate. Faces were drawn as people collected their bags and jackets to leave.

“Don’t worry, everyone,” Emily’s cheerful voice boomed over the speakers, “you all just need more practice. So practice on each other tonight! We’ll learn more tomorrow.”

The instructor remained at her podium and pretended to fill out paperwork as people filed out of the ballroom. This kept distance from the students, who would otherwise mob her with asinine questions. Many looked at her with quizzical eyes, but none said a word.

But then, just when Emily thought she was free to make her escape, a young man vaulted the platform stage. He was African-American, lean and muscular, with a confident smile and easygoing manner. Emily admired his white teeth and aw-shucks grin as he approached. She guessed he was in his late twenties.

“Yes?” Emily said, hoping her annoyance wasn’t audible.

“Hey professor,” the young man said, “this is an awesome class. Thanks for teaching it. I’ve seen all your online videos, they’re just great. Oh, I’m Devlin, by the way.” He offered his hand.

“Hello, Devlin,” Emily replied, returning a quick handshake. “So glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Listen,” said Devlin, leaning closer, “a couple of students and me, we’re not sure we’re getting the basic concepts.”

“I’m sure you just need more practice,” Emily said quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll practice tonight,” nodded the handsome student. “But I’m thinking… we’ll be a lot more successful if you were helping us. You available for some extra tutoring?”

Emily scowled inside. In every class, there was one or two male hotheads who wanted one-on-one training. They usually wanted to get her alone for a clumsy attempt at seduction. Or they had some sick hypnosis fetish and wanted to be entranced to ejaculate in their pants. Or something even sicker.

“I’m very sorry,” the instructor said sweetly, “but I’m afraid—“

“I’d pay you, of course,” Devlin cut her off.

Emily hesitated.

“You must be very in-demand,” the young man said. “Say… fifty thousand for a specialized training session? Three hours? After class tomorrow? I’ll even rent another classroom in the hotel.”

“Uh…” replied Emily, thinking quickly. “I’m sorry, but…”

“I have the money,” Devlin said eagerly. “Look, traveler’s checks.” He pulled a long envelope from his backpack, and opened it on the podium. Sure enough, inside were a small pile of valid American Express traveler’s checks, each printed at $10,000.

“We can even toss in a bonus if you help me hypnotize my first volunteer,” Devlin said, sweetening the deal.

Hmm. Upon reflection, Emily thought that Devlin looked like a nice, gullible boy. Still… there was the very real possibility that he was interested in sex, not hypnosis.

“I’m sorry, Devlin,” she forced herself to say. “I just can’t work one-on-one with a student. It wouldn’t be fair. Also—“

The young man seemed to get it. “Oh, this wouldn’t be a private lesson,” he interjected. “It wouldn’t be just you and me. Oh, no. There’s, like, ten of us in the back of the class. We all bonded over breakfast. I’d want to bring all of them along, ’cause they’re good people.”

“Eh, forgive me Devlin,” Emily couldn’t help but saying, “but how is it that you have—“

“Have so much money?” the boy laughed, interrupting her again. “Well, if you gotta know… My dad is CEO of Willow Crescent Associates; they’re Manhattan’s biggest investment house. They turn over seven billion a year in capital gains.”

“Ah. You’re a trust fund baby,” Emily surmised.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” replied Devlin, looking embarrassed. “But I’m gonna make my own fortune. I’m planning on learning hypnotism from you, then opening a national chain of hypnosis practitioners. Gonna call it ‘Hypnosis For Living.’” He grinned proudly. “Catchy, huh?”

“Yes, very inspired,” Emily lied.

She tilted her head slightly, making calculations.

“I’m most impressed by your enthusiasm, Devlin,” the instructor said slowly, as if these words pained her. “But my time is quite valuable, I’m afraid. I do have my own clients and a self-help book which is coming out shortly. I couldn’t possibly do a specialized class with you and your friends…” Here she adopted a look of fake regret. “…for any less than a hundred thousand.”

“A hundred…?” Devlin said, taken aback.

Emily nodded solemnly.

“A hundred,” repeated the young man, now looking down at the stack of checks. “Well… Hmm.”

Emily watched him struggle.

“Yes, you see its quite impossible,” she said briskly, gathering up her laptop and purse. “Well, I’ll see you in class tomor—“

“Okay,” Devlin blurted out. “A hundred. Okay.” He grinned. “You’re the famous Emily Buntley, after all.”

Emily smiled, already counting up the profit.

The hotel bar was already humming when Emily stalked inside. She selected a stool off to the side, where she could observe the clientele and select one or two who might be suitable evening companions. Her gin and tonic in one hand, she projected an icy demeanor, smiling only at the young, rich men who ogled her.

Eventually, one of those fellows ambled up. “Hey, I’m Bruster,” he offered in a boyish, slurred voice. “Can I buy you a drink?”

No master of observation, this Bruster. Emily set down her own glass, playing coy. “Thank you, I’m quite fine,” she said smoothly. “But tell me about you?”

Bruster’s eyes lit up. He began regaling Emily about how he’d just traded over fifty thousand shares of pork bellies on the NASDAQ, and well, at two-point-seven percent markup, why, that was over two hundred thousand over the initial gross! Or something. Emily couldn’t really follow Bruster’s story, and truth be told, the handsome trader was having a hard time making sense of it himself.

But the beautiful hypnotist wasn’t interested in markets or Bruster’s money-making prowess. He had a good build, and strong lips. He would be an expert at giving oral. He was also responding to her subliminal tests. Emily crossed her legs, already anticipating an evening of pleasure.

“Bruster, love,” she cut him off. “Look into my eyes.”

The second day of Introductory Hypnotism was designed to overload the students’ capacity to absorb information. Emily blitzed through sixty-seven individual slides, rarely pausing for questions or comments. She prattled on about hypnotic techniques for smoking cessation, better study habits, exercise reinforcement, nail-biting treatments, and more. By lunchtime, her students were worn down into a dazed stupor.

“After lunch, we’ll work on these techniques,” she promised. “See you then!”

Of course, once the break was over, the beautiful instructor broke the class back up into pairs and instructed them to hypnotize each other all over again. “This time,” she commanded, “identify a clinical need your partner has, and cure them! Off you go, then.”

And once again, the students plodded into another worthless hypnosis session, where absolutely no-one got hypnotized. And again, Emily fended off the requests for one-on-one critiques, patiently asking every student, “Did you achieve critical bypass?”

As class broke up for the day, Emily smugly watched her students from the corner of her eye. By now, they were realizing that her class would not prepare them to earn money as professional hypnotists. While deeply discouraged, they would return for the last day of class, hopeful for some illuminating miracle that would never come.

It didn’t matter. After the second class, all tuition was completely nonrefundable. Emily could spend the whole day skipping about the stage, singing the Alphabet Song, and there wasn’t a damn thing her students could do about it.

The young woman snapped her laptop shut, thinking into the future. In three months’ time, the London Hypnotism Symposium was being hosted by the International Psychiatric and Psychologial Association. This was strictly a stuffy, academic forum, boring to the extreme. But the more Emily thought about it, the more she suspected she could eek out an invitation. That might lead to another impressive-sounding credential. Anything which made her look impressive was worth pursuing. Image was everything.

“Hey professor!” an eager young voice said.

Emily looked up from her purse, surprised. Devlin was standing at the edge of the stage, nine other young, attractive students congregated with him. As one, they beamed up at their instructor.

Oh. Right. The special class. Emily had entirely forgotten.

Swallowing the impulse to curse, the young woman smiled. “Very well, then. Are you all ready?”