The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It takes some time before your dazed mind reconnects with your body.

Oh yeah… You’re totally naked… lying on your back, in this hotel bed… your hypnotist and lover, Chris Wren, is still directly on top of you. His weight presses you into the mattress. And his cock is still rock-hard, thrust deep inside you. Mmm, feels great…!

You’re coming off the Orgasm of the Year, and your body is still sparkling with sexual delight! Yeah! You’re giddy, almost like you’ve experienced a pleasurable high. You can feel Chris’s pounding heartbeat. And the heat of his body. You like how his weight is almost crushing you.

Amusingly, Chris is still wearing his shirt and socks. Nothing says “classy” like boning while wearing socks, right? Tee hee…

Chris grunts softly, pulls out, then rolls off your body. He flops onto his back, and you quickly snuggle up against his torso. This is the part of sex you like best: The postclitoral cuddling. Chris doesn’t push you away.

You slip your arms about Chris, lean you head on his shoulder, and contentedly close your eyes.

True… you have somehow been hypnotized and turned into Chris’s obedient sex kitten… but in the moment, that doesn’t seem so bad. Your vagina sure ain’t complaining. Maybe you could get used to this?

Time passes.

Chris stirs, and you release him to so he may reposition his body. He’s leaving? Your heart sinks a little. All of your previous boyfriends would take this opportunity to jump out of bed, yank on their pants, then escape to watch football on TV. You’ve never had a great Pillow Talk experience. Don’t go… you think at Chris forlornly.

To your surprise, Chris rolls back towards you, snuggling even closer. Now you both are sharing one pillow, your noses practically touching! Ooo, nice! The hypnotist’s cute face dominates your field of vision. You swoon for him, just a little.

“That,” Chris murmurs happily, “was pretty awesome.”

You feel a flood of relief. He wants to cuddle and talk! Boyfriend Jackpot! You grin back and try to think of something clever to say.

“Yeah…” you gush. “…That was… like… awesome. Real awesome.”

(Oh, well done. You’re a regular Oscar Wilde. Real smooth.)

But Chris doesn’t seem to mind your stupid words. He brushes a lock of your hair out of your eyes.

Suddenly, you feel like you can ask him anything.

“You hypnotized me,” you ask. “Right?”

“Yeah.” Chris chuckles. “Well, actually, you hypnotized yourself.”

“Whaddya mean?”

The young man brushes aside another strand of your hair. “Whenever I perform my show, sometimes people who didn’t volunteer listen as I do the hypnotic induction. They fall into a trance without intending to.”

“That’s what happened to me,” you say.

“Yep,” agrees Chris. “You were in the audience, listening to me do my stuff, and you went under all on your own. I didn’t even know you were under, until you came up on stage.”

You sigh. “I don’t remember any of it,” you confess. “I don’t even remember sitting down in the auditorium. Your show is a totally blank to me.”

The cute hypnotist nods. “Oh yeah, I’m sure. The moment I saw you, I knew that you were under deep. Extremely deep.”

“So I’m really hypnotizable,” you say glumly.

“You’re more than that,” Chris tells you. “In technical terms, you’re a perfect somnambulist.”

“A what?”

“A somnambulist is anyone who can be deeply hypnotized,” explains your lover, now openly twirling another strand of your hair about his fingers. “A perfect somnambulist is someone who goes ultra deep, and then is so immersed in the hypnotic experience that their mind can’t tell the difference between reality and suggestion.”

You’re not certain… but you think you’ve just been insulted?

“So I’m so damn hypnotizable,” you ask, “that I can basically be mind controlled?”

“Well, yeah, that’s part of it,” smirks Chris. “You couldn’t resist me in my show. You woulda stripped naked for the audience, if I’d commanded it. And you never once realized how I hypno’ed you to come here tonight.”

You’re starting not to like this conversation. “How?”

With something like pride, Chris relates: “After just fifteen minutes of my show, I realized how deeply you were under. I knew you’d accept and obey any suggestion that I put into your head. So I did something I’ve always wanted to do.

“I commanded all the hypnotized guys in the show to believe that they were NLF Cheerleaders. I made ’em get up and try and lead the audience in chants and rah-rahs and all that shit. It’s a brilliant skit. Manly dudes, thinking that they’re girls, trying to do high kicks and shake imaginary pompoms? Heh. Always brings the house down.

“But while the guys were making complete fools of themselves and distracting the audience, I slipped around behind the female volunteers and came to you. I whispered special instructions into your ear. I told you that when you were finished with classes today, you would automatically call me. I gave you my cell number. And I told you that when you heard my voice again, you would go back into a trance, while we were on the phone.

“The rest was easy! I hung out here, in my hotel room, just watching TV and waiting for the phone to ring. And when you finally did call, I instructed you to dress all sexy and come right over. You never had a chance to question your orders or resist my commands. In fact, you obeyed me to the letter, all the while believing that you were acting of your own will.”

Chris chuckles. “I’ve read about perfect somnambulists, but never met one. Let alone hypnotized one. Let alone hypnotized one to become my sex girl.”

You feel …appalled!

“I’m your sex girl?” you echo in dismay.

“Yes, but—look at me—you have now forgotten everything I just told you,” Chris says, very firmly.

You blink. What did he just say? Your mind skips a bit. Chris was talking about… something… You can’t remember what.

Aw, hell. It doesn’t matter.

You smile sweetly, then snuggle closer. “Can we do this again?” you ask hopefully.

“Oh, we will,” Chris promises. “I haven’t given you your next instructions yet. But I will.”

That’s an odd thing for a boyfriend to say. But you decide to shrug it off.

“So if I’m a… a…” You fumble at your memory. “A what?”

“Perfect somnambulist.”

“Right, one of those. Does that just mean I’m awesome at hypno shows?”

“Yeah,” says Chris. “Well, being unable to resist direct suggestions is a symptom. What being a P.S. really means is that you’re hyperintelligent. You just have a disorganized mind.”

“Really? No way.”

The hypnotist lazily selects another lock of your hair. “What’s your major? No, wait, don’t tell me.” He thinks. “For your major… you would have picked something highly technical. With a lot of abstract concepts. And a ton of reading and hard work. And all the time, you feel like you struggle with your studies.” He eyes you knowingly. “Am I right?”

Holy shit. He’s just described the life of a Philosophy major to a perfect ‘T’. You simply nod.

“See?” Chris is satisfied. “A hyperintelligent person would be driven to a complex field of study. But someone with a disorganized mind would feel adrift in that line of work.”

You stare. “So I’m crazy-hypnotizable, and I’m an idiot in my major. That’s what you’re saying?”

“No, no,” scowls Chris. “I’m saying that your mind is capable of extraordinary things. You just don’t know how to channel it.”

You dwell on this.

“It doesn’t matter,” grins Chris, leaning closer. “Listen, I wanna see you again.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. Suddenly, you’re not so certain you want to see him.

“Look into my eyes,” Chris orders. His voice becomes powerful, demanding, yet strangely calm.

You gaze into his pupils, and you feel your own thoughts blur. You’re slipping back into hypnosis…

“I’m only in Columbus for a few college shows,” Chris tells you. “Then I go back on tour. But I’ll return. So on the first of next month, you will suddenly have the irresistible urge to call my cell again. You will wait until you are alone and cannot be overheard by your friends. You will call my cell, and the instant you hear my voice, you will fall back into a deep trance. You will then accept every command and suggestion I give you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” you hear yourself say.

Chris’s voice fills your mind. You can’t think.

He is your master. You are his slave.

“You will leave his hotel room,” your master instructs, “And when you do, you will forget that you were ever hypnotized to come here. You will legit believe that you and I are just casual fuckbuddies. And you want to hook up with me again. You will want me again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.”

“Very good. Now, you will commit my cell number to your subconscious. You will never store it in your phone Contact List, but when the time comes for you to call me, you will remember it so clearly.”

Your master leans closer. His voice is all-powerful. You are captivated.

He says, “My number is…”

A few weeks go by. Gradually, the campus forgets about how you humiliated yourself in that stage hypnosis show, and you’re able to walk through the dining hall without people throwing sideways glances or snickering at you behind your back.

And honestly, you’ve forgotten about the hypno show, too. You only have a hazy recollection of talking with Kari, Olivia, and Taylor about it after-the-fact. Whatever. You can’t even recall what that hypnotist guy looked like.

Besides, you’ve now got bigger problems.

The study guide for Professor Holtzburg’s midterm comes out, and immediately, you and Taylor realize that you’re in a world of deep shit. The guide is four pages long, typed in ten-point font and lists over a hundred different philosophers. How did this class possibly cover so much material in just two months???

You and Taylor look over the study guide and come close to panic.

“Jesus Christ!” Taylor wails. “Is it too late to switch majors?”

Its crunch time. Suddenly, you have no time for TV or hanging with friends or reading a trashy novel. Hell, you don’t even let yourself glance at Instagram! The pressure of this midterm is upon you. Every waking moment is needed.

You, Taylor, and a few other girls from class form a study brigade/emotional support group. Every evening, you guys take over the first-floor dorm study room. And you cram. You cram like fucking crazy! There’s a lot of stress eating going on. Poor Taylor is on track to gain ten pounds before this exam, you watch.

It’s the night before the exam. Its 2 AM. The study room is packed with six philosophy majors, all freaking out. The table is littered with open notebooks, philosophy texts, laptops, and crumpled bags of junk food. Everyone’s in a shitty mood.

“Okay, okay, let’s move on to the multiple choice questions,” Taylor proposes. Everyone else nods, so Taylor elbows you in the ribs. “Hey. You wanna quiz us?”

You gulp your Red Bull, then grunt, “Sure.”

Where’s your notes? Ah, here. You pull your ringbinder towards you, cover up the answer key, then read aloud to the other women:

“Who is credited with the following statement: ‘My first act of free will shall be to believe in free will.’”

1. Friedrich Nietzsche
2. John Stuart Mill
3. William James
4. Arthur Schopenhauer

Your classmates stare blankly back at you. You might as well take this one.

“Well…” you reason out loud, “its not Nietzsche, right? This quote is way too fucking cheerful for Nietzsche. Maybe its Mill? Mill was kinda progressive, he liked freedom, he was into that utilitarianism stuff… so maybe him? Or perhaps…”

You pause, thinking about free will.

Suddenly, a thunderbolt strikes you from beyond the blue! With perfect clarity, your mind is working flawlessly. All you stress melts away as you realize that you have the answer.

“What?” Taylor asks you, looking irked. “What’s with you?”

“The answer is (C),” you say serenely. “William James.”

Rachel, the girl from New York, eyes you resentfully. “How do you know?”

“Its totally William James,” you promise. “James was that dippy professor guy, remember? And he was big into the practical consequences of beliefs. That was his thing. This quote is James.”

Taylor flips through her notes.

“That’s right,” she announces in surprise.

You close your notebook with total confidence. You fear nothing from this midterm.

“Ladies, I’m gonna call it a night,” you say pleasantly. “I need sleep. Good luck tomorrow.”

You drop-kick that midterm like a sack of bricks! Honestly, this test seemed pathetically easy! It was like you simply looked at those printed questions, and the answers sang out to you. Barely any thinking was involved on your part. You didn’t take that exam, you merely reacted to it.

You are the first to finish. Once you complete your exam, you stride up to Professor Holtzburg, handing him your test booklet with supreme confidence. He smiles pleasantly at you.

As you waltz out of the classroom, you happen to catch Taylor’s eye. She’s struggling, halfway through a short-answer essay, and she looks desperate. As you exit, she frowns at you slightly. She’s jealous—and suspicious—of your newfound genius.

But you can’t share your secret with her. Not just yet.

You see, you are a perfect somnambulist. Your conscious and subconscious minds have a unique connection and can communicate to one another with ease. It wasn’t always this way, of course. But now that you’ve been hypnotized, its like the two halves of your brain are in perfect sympatico. You have near-perfect recall and limitless creativity. You might write a novel!

You exit Hagerty Hall, appreciating the warm sun on your face. Ah, to be alive! You’re in such a good mood. After being in Study Mode for so long, what would you like to do with your free time? TV? A trashy novel? Social media? Maybe hit the gym?

As you contemplate your wonderful options, you realize… you have your smartphone in your hands. Your fingers were about to dial a phone number.

Whoa.

With a start, you realize: You were about to call Chris Wrens. Your hypnotist. You were about to obey his subliminal command.

Had you placed that phone call, Chris would entrance you again. You would obediently traipse back to your dorm room, dress up like a sex worker, then head to his hotel room. You would be fully in his power, and you would strip for him and then he would fuck you like a Nietzschean superman. It would be an evening of mindless (and mind-blowing) sex.

You freeze, realizing how close you came to surrendering your will. Even now, your fingers ache to dial Chris’s number. A part of you longs to hear his voice once more, and to lose yourself to his magic.

Right now, Chris is in his hotel, patiently awaiting your call.

Of course… if you never call him, Chris has no way of reaching you. The hypnotist never even bothered to learn your name! All he knows is that you are one of forty-five thousand undergrads here on campus. If you never call him, you are out of his reach forever.

But then again…

What if you did call him?

You would be rehypnotized, probably going deeper into trance than before. Chris would summon you, and you two would fuck like porn stars. And your orgasms (plural!) would be truly great. You will willingly call Chris “master,” and he would scornfully refer to you as “slave.” And while he was inside your head, you’d do or say or believe anything he commanded.

But now, you know yourself to be a perfect somnambulist. You broke Chris’s control over you. If you returned to him, maybe his power over you would not be absolute? Hmmm…

A shiver races down your spine.

What do you want to do?