The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mike Reynolds looked around him.

There were several other guys in the classroom: a couple of football jocks caught sleeping in class, a guy called Billy something who thought he was a real comedian and wouldn’t shut up in class and a tall, skinny dark-haired kid in a bomber jacket and mirror shades who didn’t really seem to belong there. All of them seemed to know each other; he, on the other hand, didn’t really know any of them. He was the new kid in class, transferred in when his family moved into the city, and after all, this was a big high school—there were fifty students in his senior class, and his class was one of two sections. He’d been tagged for doodling in his notebook, of all things; he hadn’t really been interested in the history lesson the teacher had been giving.

He’d been more interested in the teacher, Ms. Vance. Five-nine, with glasses and dark red hair tied in a tight bun, she had a spectacular figure which was more emphasized than concealed by what she was wearing: a short gray skirt with a matching jacket over a white blouse that strained to confine a great rack, sheer stockings over luscious legs, and glossy white high-heeled shoes. The blouse’s top button was open. He couldn’t help fantasizing about what she’d look like with more of those buttons open, maybe bending forward—or maybe bending over facing the blackboard instead, showing off those legs.

His distraction had been a little too obvious: the teacher had called his name, then come over to his desk—and had seen him hurriedly close his notebook. She’d picked it up and leafed through it.

That had done it. Instead of taking notes, he’d been drawing sexy pictures, very obviously of her. She had flushed, confiscated the notebook and announced coldly, “I’ll see you after school, Michael.” There’d been a few catcalls, until Ms. Vance had swept the room with an angry gaze. One of the people she’d raked with her eyes had been the mirror-shades kid, whose name Mike still didn’t know; he’d been ordered to stay after too. It hadn’t seemed to bother him; if anything, he’d grinned a little.

Ms. Vance entered the room and closed the door behind her, then sat down behind the big desk at the front of the classroom. Turning toward the smaller desks where the boys sat, she said coolly, “All here, I see. Now, you know what to do: just sit there, with your hands folded on top of your desks. Just sit there and think about where you’d rather be and why you’re here instead.” She paused. “Except you, Michael.” She scowled. “I want you to come up here and write on the blackboard, one hundred times, ‘I will not draw pictures in class.’”

Mike got up and moved to the blackboard as ordered. He started to write.

Mirror-shades got up and walked casually toward the front of the room.

“What are you doing, Kevin?” The teacher sounded annoyed. “Sit back down, right now!”

“In a minute, Ms. Vance,” Kevin—so that’s his name, Mike thought—replied. “I need to show you something first.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch, which he held up between his thumb and two fingers and started swinging gently by its chain. Light from the overhead fixtures glittered off it. What’s he doing, Mike asked himself, trying to hypnotize her?

“What are you doing, Kevin?” Ms. Vance repeated. Mike forgot about writing on the board. He looked over his shoulder at the scene playing out behind him.

Kevin kept swinging the watch. “Nothing special,” he said. “Nothing I haven’t done before.” He chuckled. “But of course you don’t remember that, do you.”

Fascinated, Mike turned around, chalk stick still in hand.

“What . . . what do you mean, Kevin?” The sexy teacher suddenly seemed off-balance, her stern manner of only a moment before melting into confusion. Now that he was facing Kevin and her, Mike could see that her eyes were following the motion of Kevin’s watch as it swung back and forth, back and forth.

“It’s really very simple,” Kevin replied. “You don’t remember because I told you not to remember. And you won’t remember this time, either.”

“I­­—I don’t,” Ms. Vance struggled, “I don’t un-der-sta-and.”

“Of course you don’t,” came the reply, faintly mocking now. “But I’ll explain. It’s very simple; even a bimbo airhead like you can understand. I’m hypnotizing you, just like I’ve done before, lots of times. That’s why you’re relaxed now, watching my watch: your mind has been trained to relax and slide peacefully into a deep hypnotic trance, yes, deep, deeper; you can’t resist it, you can’t remember why you should resist it, because there isn’t any reason to resist it. So just keep watching the watch and relax even more.”

Inspecting Ms. Vance, the high-school hypnotist continued. “I’m going to snap my fingers, Audrey, and when I do, you’ll get up and come around in front of your desk. Then you’ll stand straight with your arms at your sides and close your eyes. When you close your eyes, you will still see my pocket watch swinging, back and forth, back and forth, and you’ll hear my voice, and only my voice, and my words will be your only thoughts, just like all the other times, Audrey. Do you understand, Audrey, and will you do as I’ve asked you to?”

“Yes, Kevin,” Ms. Vance responded in a soft, dreamy voice. “I understand. I will do . . . as you’ve asked.” Suddenly, startlingly, she giggled. “Just like all the . . . other times.”

Kevin snapped his fingers.

“Wow,” Mike breathed, staring at Ms. Vance. Just as Kevin had told her to, she was now standing straight with her arms at her sides and her eyes closed. If she wasn’t really hypnotized, she was sure putting on a great act. And the way she’d been talking, especially there at the end—she’d sounded just like the “bimbo airhead” Kevin had called her. “How’d you do that?”

“My dad’s a stage hypnotist,” Kevin explained. “A real one, not one of those fakes you sometimes see whose ‘subjects’ are really ringers planted in the audience. And he’s been training me to take over from him when he retires.” The high-school hypnotist smiled. “He gave me the pocket watch I’ve been using on Audrey.” The smile grew wider. “I’m sure she’d be pissed to hear me using her first name like that if she were awake. But when I bring her out of her trance, she won’t remember a thing except that we boys behaved ourselves.” Raucous laughter erupted from the others in the room. “And after all, we’re all such good friends these days, although she doesn’t remember anything about that either.” More laughter.

“But I still don’t understand,” Mike persisted. “How’d you get her hypnotized in the first place? And how did you—train her, you said—to do what she did just now?”

“Just now?” Kevin’s smile widened into a smirk. “Believe me, this is nothing. Just wait. You see, we guys are a special club—we call ourselves the Detention Club—and you’re about to get the chance to join. And believe me, you’ll want to join, once you’ve gone through our, ahem, initiation.”

Mike frowned. “Don’t clubs usually initiate new members after they’ve asked to join?”

One of the other boys spoke up. “Yeah, but we’re different. Besides, we pretty much figure you’ll want to join, or we wouldn’t have put on our little show for you. Think of it as advertising.” He grinned. “And if you decided to turn us down, who could you tell about us? Who’d believe you? Not even her! He gestured toward the trance-bound teacher standing placidly in front of the big desk where she’d been sitting only minutes earlier. “But you won’t squeal.”

He pulled out his cellphone and tapped it a few times. Brassy old-fashioned striptease music started playing. “Go, Audrey, go!”

Audrey went.

Her eyes widened, then half closed; her lips curved in a sexy smile. She took her glasses off and carefully tucked them into a desk drawer. Next, she raised her hands and sank them into her tightly-bound red hair, tossing it until it framed her head in a fiery cloud. She inhaled deeply and her tight blouse strained; a button popped open, and then another. Giggling, she brought her arms down; her hands snaked to her chest and began working at the remaining buttons one after another until the garment lay fully open. She writhed out of it, laughing. “How’s this, boys?” she teased. “Want more?” Howls of encouragement erupted from her audience.

“Holy shit,” Mike gasped. “She’s stripping! Right here in front of us!” Staring at the wanton woman who’d been a stiff disciplinarian only minutes before, he found himself growing hard.

“She sure is,” Kevin gloated. “And she’s really, really good at it.” He was sweating himself, and Mike could see that the other boy had the same sort of erection tenting his pants that he felt in his own. “She’s”—he gasped—“had plenty of practice. Nnngh!”

“Wh-wh-what do you mean?” Mike managed to get out. Blood was pounding in his ears, and he couldn’t have looked away from the performance in front of him if he’d wanted to. He didn’t want to.

Audrey was pulling down her skirt now, shimmying to help it along. She could hear the boys in front of her cheering and clapping, and the applause made her even hotter than the music still playing from somewhere—she didn’t care where. The skirt fell to her ankles and she kicked out of it, leaving herself clad only in a tight bra which barely contained her breasts, tiny panties, and her sheer stockings and glossy white high heels. She struck a pose, left arm bent up to let her hand bury itself in her hair again, right bent down to let her hand rest on her hip. Her left leg was bent just enough so that only her toes touched the floor. She arched her back, thrusting out her chest. The bra not quite covering it strained visibly.

“Oh my God!” Mike could feel his hips shuddering and his dick straining. In another minute, he thought feverishly, I’m gonna come, right here! This couldn’t be real, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.

Watching his new friend, Kevin grinned. “I’ve been working on her since last year, conditioning her, training her. And part of that training was in striptease. There are plenty of videos around, you know, not just of women stripping but actual instructional stuff.” His grin widened. “She’s a quick learner.”

Mike gulped.

Kevin’s grin widened. “But that’s not all she does.” The grin became a leer. “It’s time for the best part of your initiation, Mikey boy!”

“The best part?” Mike gasped. He was still staring at Audrey, who had brought her hand down from her now thoroughly tousled hair and was resting it on the desk, propping her up.

“Oh, yeah,” Kevin answered. Turning, he addressed the spellbound schoolteacher. “Audrey, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet. Mike, this is Audrey Vance. Audrey, this is Mike Reynolds.”

Audrey stood straight and looked at the two boys. “I know that, silly,” she cooed. “He’s in my history class just like you.” She giggled. “He was drawing naughty pictures of me in class.” She winked at Mike and waved a finger as if scolding him. “Naughty boy!” She laughed.

Mike moaned. Blood was pounding in his ears. That sexy, teasing voice! He couldn’t help himself, he was going to come, he—!

Kevin saw, and chuckled. “Just wait a minute,” he said. “Audrey, Mike here likes you very much! And you like it when a boy likes you very much, don’t you.”

“Ooooo,” Audrey responded in a breathy voice. “I like it a lot. You know I do, Kevin honey.”

“I sure do, Audrey.” Kevin smirked. “Now why don’t you show my friend here how much you like it?”

Giggling brainlessly, the ravishing redhead reached out, bending forward just enough to let her sharp-nailed fingertips reach Mike’s chest and begin playing with the buttons on his shirt. By pure reflex, Mike stepped closer.

That was all Audrey needed. She took hold of his shirt and reeled him in, wrapped one arm around his back and cupped the back of his head with her other hand. She pulled his body against hers and pulled his head forward until their lips met. Her tongue forced his mouth open and snaked inward.

Mike couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. What was happening was right out of his hottest fantasies. His head was spinning, spinning . . . ! He was vaguely aware that the other boys in the room were watching them and cheering. He didn’t care. The hand Audrey had used to draw him to her had gone to his shirt front and was busy working the buttons. Somehow—he didn’t remember doing it—his arms had gone around the redhead and were pulling her even closer; her beautiful, bare breasts pressed against his chest as she ground against him. Her right leg rode up his left thigh, caressing him.

Mike forgot about the cheering audience. He forgot that the luscious near-naked female slithering against him was his history teacher. None of that mattered.

Afterward, he would only vaguely remember stripping out of his own clothes, aided by Audrey’s knowing hands, or sinking to the floor naked with her. He would remember her arms around him, her lips forcing his open, her tongue snaking into his mouth, and her legs clamping firmly around him. He would remember those legs squeezing rhythmically as her hips bucked and her hands pressed his face deep into her cleavage. Then the world spun away in fireworks as he came explosively, his cry of release muffled in soft titflesh.

Slowly he returned to reality. Like Adam and Eve after the apple, he realized he was naked. He reluctantly disentangled himself from the ravishing, equally nude redhead whom he once more recognized as his teacher and grabbed for his discarded clothes, dressing hastily.

Audrey rose to her feet more slowly. She collected her own cast-off garments and slithered into them in a sinuous reverse striptease which surely would have made Mike come again if he had had anything left. A couple of the other guys shuddered in their seats, lost in happy lust. When she was done, she stood in front of the desk once more, arms at her sides and facing straight ahead, plainly waiting for instructions.

Mike managed to sit down without missing his chair, but it was a near thing. He was still struggling to catch his breath when Kevin walked over to Audrey and addressed her.

“Audrey,” he said, “you know what’s going to happen now, don’t you? Tell us what’s going to happen.”

The befuddled redhead giggled. “You’re going to snap your fingers, Kevin sweetie. When you snap your fingers, I will sit down in my chair again and fold my hands on the table. Then l will wake up and remember only that you were all such good boys. I’ll send you all home.” She paused for a moment, then went on: “After that, I’ll go home too. When I get there, I’ll take a nice hot shower and then a nap. Then I’ll be all relaxed and rested and ready for the evening.” She giggled again. “Just like always.”

“That’s right, Audrey.” Kevin smiled at his trance-bound teacher. “Just like always. Good girl.” Audrey squealed with pleasure; she had been programmed to do that when she heard those words.

The high-school hypnotist turned and spoke to Mike. “You see? She’ll do anything I tell her to, and won’t remember a thing. And we do this every time the group of us get sent to detention together. And thanks to a couple of posthypnotic suggestions I’ve given her, she always finds a reason to keep us after school at least once a week.”

“You’re positive she doesn’t remember anything?” Mike wanted more than anything to have sex again—and again—with the woman now standing empty-minded before him, but there had to be a catch. There always was with something this good!

“Well,” Kevin answered, “almost positive. I’ve spent a fair amount of time programming her to forget.” He gestured toward the oblivious redhead. “If she knew what was really going on, we’d all have been expelled by now, and probably arrested. But,”—he hesitated—“she may have some sort of subconscious memory. Anyone who remembers how she was when this all started knows she used to wear clothes a lot less sexy than what she comes to school in now. She uses more makeup too, and more perfume. It’s like she remembers somewhere in the back of her mind what she’s like in trance, and likes it. And that’s fine with me, as long as she doesn’t do anything that gets her fired. I’ve put too much into her, in all sorts of ways”—raucous laughter erupted from his audience, even Mike—“to see it all go to waste.”

“We’re all graduating this year, though,” Mike pointed out. “What happens after that?”

“I haven’t really worked anything out,” Kevin admitted. “I’ve been having too much fun to think about that. We all have.”

Mike laughed. “I can’t argue with that.” Sweat was still cooling on his forehead. Then he turned serious: “But how did you ever do this to her in the first place? You never answered when I asked before.”

“Well, it’s a long story.” Nodding toward Audrey, Kevin went on, “We don’t have time for it right now. I’ve got to bring Ms. Vance”—another round of laughter—“out of it and then we’ve all got to go home. They’re going to be clearing the building any time now.”

Mike nodded. “I guess you’re right. Okay, do your thing.”

Turning to face Audrey again, Kevin held his right hand up in front of her and snapped his fingers.

Audrey Vance blinked and unclasped her hands. A glance at the clock on the wall told her they were a little past the scheduled end of detention period. Where did the time go? She shook her head. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. They were all such good boys. They always are when they’re here. Why can’t they be that way in class?

She smiled. “All right, boys, you can go home now.” They cheered and headed for the door. As she watched them leave, a wicked thought came to her: Or maybe what they need is the right place to be bad—and the right person to be bad with. She’d been having such thoughts more and more often lately, especially about young Kevin Masters. An image flickered through her mind, of the two of them together. . . . She shook her head and it faded, but for a moment it had seemed so real.

Almost like a memory.