The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It would be easy to assume that any thoughts of the Crazy Caper Crew and the mysterious Al Sioris were pushed aside while Jody and I concentrated on important business like kinky hypnotic sex, spending every possible moment together, talking on the phone endlessly when we couldn’t be together, kinky hypnotic sex, cooking dinner for each other, falling in love, and having kinky hypnotic sex. And yes, we did all these things. But our favorite cartoon from childhood was inextricably linked to these things for me. if anything, as our relationship grew, I became even more obsessed with researching cartoon history.

Al Sioris was by all accounts a reclusive character. Over a period of months, I pieced together a workable portrait of a young boy born in 1920 who’d left a tiny village in upstate New York to study illustration at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. After the war, he spent a few years in advertising, and then went to Hollywood to fulfill his lifelong dream of working in animation. Once there he hopped from studio to studio, starting off as a lowly in-betweener and gradually working his way to the middle.

His one noteworthy accomplishment came when he was headed for retirement. Apparently he chafed at the idea of everything being farmed out to studios overseas, so that animators in places like Korea took jobs away from the animators in Hollywood. So he took all his savings and unexpectedly set up Al Sioris Productions, making himself into an entrepreneur. His studio produced exactly one thing before going out of business suddenly and mysteriously: thirteen episodes of a show called The Crazy Caper Crew. That was it.

A friend of Mike’s got me in touch with one of the guys who’d worked for Al, and he explained that as a boss, Al had been a complete dictator about the work...and inattentive to anything else. Obsessed with getting every frame of every episode just right, he would trash complicated sequences for errors no one else could see, insisting on redoing it all himself. “I guess this was his one shot to show everyone how it ought to be done,” the former employee recalled sardonically. It was certainly odd behavior from a fellow who’d never stood out as strict or dictatorial or much of anything else during the bulk of his career.

After the abrupt cancellation of The Crazy Caper Crew—to which Sioris owned the rights, but apparently no one was interested in rebroadcasting it, ever—he retired to parts unknown, and was never heard from again.

One thing Jody and I both knew about The Crazy Caper Crew we never pointed out to anyone else. Even in episodes without Master Mystico, every one of those thirteen episodes was about hypnosis or mind control in one form or another.

In episode 107, Master Mystico hypnotizes his buxom assistant Honey and makes her think she’s Jackie, the brash redheaded member of the Crew. Then he kidnaps Jackie and sends the mesmerized Honey to take her place. The rest of the Crew doesn’t seem to notice the switch at first. Which is pretty odd, considering “Jackie” has grown at least one cup size at the bust, but cartoons always have a loose concept of effective disguise. Meanwhile, Mystico has hypnotized the real Jackie into thinking she’s Honey. So there’s the “good girl” Jackie, vamping it up and laughing evilly as Mystico plots to destroy the Crew once and for all...

I could go on and on, up the very last episode, in which Todd’s college football team is unwittingly being hypnotized in the locker room before games as part of a point-fixing scheme. No, nothing the least bit suggestive or homoerotic in the scenes of muscular, passive young men wearing only towels and being hypnotized by a burly older coach—I mean, did the censors even watch this before it aired?

I was beginning to form a theory, but I kept it to myself. It was too wild.

Speaking of wild... Jody and I didn’t often repeat the same scene we tried that first night, but we continued to try out different fantasies of her devising. The focus was on her becoming the object of male desire, and her imagination seemed inexhaustible.

She was the pretty toy kept by a wealthy old man for his amusement. She was the seductress who the delivery guy couldn’t resist. She was the spy who had infiltrated the secret headquarters, only to be discovered and put into the brainwashing machine, emerging as a compliant pleasure unit whose only desire was giving her body to her master. She was captured and dressed in tatters and sold in a slave auction, drugged to be docile and unable to resist. She was Jackie or Terry, captured by Master Mystico once again, this time to satisfy his carnal desires and worship his cock.

Jody needed to feel attractive in her fantasies, and my inductions made that possible. I myself didn’t have to choose any fantasies; for me, a beautiful woman who longed to be entranced by me was my fantasy made real.

One night Jody woke me up, extremely troubled. “What is it, honey?” I asked, my mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

“Erich... do you really enjoy what we do? Hypnotizing me, I mean? Tell me the truth.”

“Of course I do... can’t you tell?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to be the one getting hypnotized?”

I thought about it carefully, as much to be seen by her giving her question due attention as anything else. “I really wouldn’t. Why do you ask?”

“Because... I can see why someone would want to be hypnotized. It’s so wonderful! It’s so peaceful. You’re free. You don’t have to worry about anything at all. But I can’t imagine why anyone would want to be in control!”

I tried to focus my eyes on her in the dark. Sleepily, I found her shoulders and put my arm around her. “When I put you under, I do feel free. I feel like you’re giving me a gift. You being so relaxed, trusting me so much you’re willing to give me that control, is the best gift imaginable. Does that make any sense?”

“Mmmmmmmh,” she murmured, already halfway back to sleep.

“Erich? Mike Evanston here. Are you there?”

“Mike? Wow. What’s up?”

“Hah. I knew you must be one of those guys who screens his calls.”

“Yeah... don’t you?”

“Of course. Remember when you told me you wanted to repay me for those tapes? Well, there’s something you can do for me... and you’re going to love it. How’d you like to visit the home of Al Sioris?”

“Huh? What? How?”

“His widow called my friend Ron, asking if any of his old junk was worth money. Ron knew it was more my sort of thing and asked me if I’d be interested. I can’t fly out there for a while, and figured maybe you could head out there, see what she has. Boxes and boxes of stuff, apparently. Think you could do that for me?”

Jody and I made a weekend trip out of it, driving out of the city on Friday night and planning to return whenever we could on Sunday. We’d have to spend Friday and Saturday nights in a motel two towns away on Route 17, because the actual town where Al and Betty Sioris had spent their last days together was too small to support a motel. It didn’t even warrant a dot on most maps; I found it on Mapquest and hoped their driving directions were trustworthy.

On the drive out, we talked nonstop to stay awake. I’m always like that on a long drive, and Jody had opened up a lot after getting to know me.

She was talking about her troubled relationship with her parents. “They basically trashed everything about me. They told me I’d never amount to anything, those exact words, and that the only way I’d get by in life was to find a successful man and marry him, but I wouldn’t because I was so ugly. Dad called me ‘ferret-face’ sometimes. He thought it was funny.”

I winced. “That’s... awful. No one should get that from their parents.” I was appalled. My own parents had been great, but I ached with sympathetic pain for Jody. What kind of monsters had her parents been?

“It wasn’t entirely their fault. My dad never had a kind word from his own parents, so he had no idea how to say them to his own kids. I guess... I guess I just kind of shut myself down, to get through it, you know? Going along with them until I could get away.”

“The hidden self,” I murmured.

“Hmmm? What’s that?”

“Oh... just something I read once. About sado-masochism and submission. This psychologist was saying that when people are denied love and acceptance for being themselves by their parents, they get the message that their real selves can’t be loved, and that they have to become someone else to get love and approval.”

“And what does that have to do with Ess and Em?”

“Well, just because you create that false self, doesn’t make it replace your real self. That hidden real you is still there, buried underneath. And you, the person, has to keep it tightly under control all the time, or the part that supposedly can’t be loved will return. And what you—er, that sort of person is looking for, is someone else to come along and take control. To be your master. Because that way, you can lose control and be yourself, because someone else has taken responsibility for your actions. It wasn’t you who did the awful things, see? You tell yourself that someone else made you do it, and that makes it okay. Does that make any sense?”

Jody breathed with amazement. “That makes a lot of sense. And you think that’s why I love being hypnotized?”

“Could be. Or maybe that just came from watching the show,” I laughed. But it fell flat, and I sensed I needed to say something more serious. “But you know...it’s not really true. It’s just pretending that someone else can really control you. It’s a way you give yourself permission, that’s all. And anyway, you’re gorgeous. And you’re loveable. I love you.” I blurted it out.

“I love you too, Erich,” she said, and rested her hand on my shoulder.

The motel was quiet and virtually empty.

“Sometimes he’d get so angry he’d make me sleep outside the bedroom door, on the hallway floor in a sleeping bag,” Jody was telling me.

“That’s awful. How could anyone do that to his own wife? And how did you put up with it for so long?”

“I just went along, because it was easier. I told myself that if I just went along and kept quiet, he wouldn’t get angry, and there wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Not wanting to ask but needing to anyway, I asked, “Did he ever... hit you?”

“No, never. It was just shouting. And name calling. He’d tell me I was a cheap whore, a slut, he’d accuse me of sleeping with all his friends, and he’d storm off.”

The happy memory of our first hypnotic session suddenly gave my mouth an unpleasant taste. What had Jody wanted me to call her? I shoved the thought aside; the woman I loved needed me. “You know that’s still abuse, right? Verbal and emotional abuse.”

“I know,” she said in a small voice.

“Why... why didn’t you leave him sooner?”

“Because my parents told me I needed a husband to survive, and that he was the best I could hope for.” Jody was crying openly now. I was too.

We held each other for a long time, sitting on the bed. I could talk glibly about “hidden selves” and show off all the things I’d learned from reading about psychology...but here was a real person who’d been cursed with awful parents and an awful husband and never been taught to value herself. Yet she was innately loveable and playful and gentle. How could such a prize as Jody have come from such awful conditions? I realized I was rocking her back and forth slowly, as if she was a baby being rocked to sleep.

With her lips almost touching my right ear, Jody whispered “Erich... put me under?”

“Right now...?” Sex was the last thing on my mind. Okay, not the last thing, but not the first either. For a change.

“Please. Put me into trance. I need to be hypnotized. I’ll do anything you want. You can do anything at all to me. Anything. But I need it. I need it. Please.”

I thought I should say no, but at that moment I didn’t see how I could refuse. Especially not that request. Being careful to keep her cradled in my arms, I turned to look her full in the face and said, “Jody, listen carefully... Foxfire.” Her eyes closed and she slumped into me.

Over the months, we’d worked carefully at reinforcing that trigger word, adding thorough safeguards and ensuring that it only worked when I said it, and then only under very precise circumstances. But when those conditions were met, I could be sure she was in an extremely deep trance almost instantly, while hearing and absorbing every word I said.

I lowered her gently onto the bed so her head was resting on the pillow. Her face was totally serene; worry lines in her forehead fading away as her brow smoothed out. “Jody—”

I grasped for some inspiration, some magic words which would erase her past and stop it from hurting her. But there were no magic words.

“You’re going to sleep now,” I said at last. “A deep, comforting sleep. And while you sleep, you’ll dream of being beautiful. You’ll feel loved and cherished and happy. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll remember feeling that way in your dream...and you’ll know the dream came true, because you truly are beautiful and loved and cherished. Sleep now.”

She sighed slightly, and presently her breathing changed and her eyelids twitched a little. She was out like a light.

Feeling as if I hadn’t slept for a week myself, I tottered to my feet long enough to pee and switch out the lights in the motel room. Then I fell back into bed alongside Jody, closed my eyes, and waited for my own dreams to arrive.