The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Kara Pendleton looked over her steepled fingers at the man seated across the desk from her. “How are you doing with your insomnia, Mr. Weldon?”

“A lot better, Dr. Pendleton,” Harris Weldon answered. “Since we started our sessions, I’ve been sleeping much more regularly. I haven’t had a really bad night in weeks.”

“That’s excellent,” the therapist said. “It shows, too. You’re looking much better than you did when you first came to me.” It was true: Weldon’s color was much better, and the bags had disappeared from under his eyes. Those eyes were, she realized, discreetly roaming over her.

She smiled. She didn’t mind. She knew she was a very attractive woman, even in the suits she wore to maintain her professional image. Five feet eight inches tall, with long honey-blonde hair presently done up in a thick bun, bright, intelligent blue eyes behind the tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses she wore, an impressive bosom, narrow waist and trim, athletic legs tapering to small feet which were encased at the moment in high-heeled black pumps. Her nails were long and expensively done, glistening in the light from the overhead fluorescents in her office.

She found her patient attractive, too. Weldon, at thirty-eight, was just enough older than she was to seem pleasantly mature, but had a full head of blond hair, an unlined face and the sort of trim athletic build which comes from regular gym workouts. She didn’t doubt his looks helped him as a salesman.

Weldon coughed and asked apologetically, “Excuse me, Doctor. Would it bother you if I smoked?”

Dr. Pendleton nodded politely. “Go right ahead. In fact, I’ll join you.” She reached into an inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, just as her patient did the same. Both of them lit up, and for a few moments there was silence except for the faint puffs of two people enjoying their smokes.

The doctor spoke first. “That’s always so relaxing,” she observed. “I know it’s not really good for me, but I find smoking so soothing, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Weldon agreed. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had to quit.”

“Mmmm,” Dr. Pendleton said. “I know what you mean.” Her voice shifted into a new rhythm as she continued, “I find it particularly helpful to watch the smoke. Watch it as it curls, as it wafts weightlessly through the room. I imagine myself dissolving into the smoke, drifting, floating with it.”

“Mmmm,” her patient responded. “Yes. I see what you mean.”

“Weightless,” the therapist said soothingly. “Formless. Floating.” She looked at Weldon, who had sunk into his chair bonelessly, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Relax into the smoke, Harris. That’s right. Merge with the smoke, float with the smoke. Yes.”

“Yes. . . .” It was barely a whisper.

“That’s right,” the doctor went on. “Float with the smoke. Drift with the smoke. Listen to my voice, and float, and drift. Forget your worries; let them blow away with the smoke. Listen to my voice, and relax, and let it guide you as you float with the smoke.”

“Yes. . . .” Weldon murmured.

Dr. Pendleton inspected the man slumped bonelessly in the soft chair facing her. Yes, he was ready for the next step.

“Now Mr. Weldon,” she addressed him, “I’m going to count backwards from three, and as I do, you will float farther and farther with the smoke, until you reach the secret place you and I discovered together in our earlier sessions. You will reach that place when I have counted to zero. Do you understand?”

“Yes. . . .” came the response, barely audible.

“Very good, Mr. Weldon.” Kara smiled to herself. Things were going just fine. “Three. You are drifting towards our secret place.”

“Mmmm.” Words were too much; just relax, and listen to the doctor. Yes.

“Two. You are drifting closer. You can see it now, in the distance. Can you see it, Mr. Weldon?”

Weldon nodded slowly, slackly.

“One. You are very near to our secret place now.”

Weldon sighed.

“Zero. You have arrived at our secret place. Here there are no worries, no secrets, no inhibitions. There is only complete trust. You trust me completely, don’t you, Harris?”

“Yes, Kara.” In their prior sessions, she had suggested that in their secret place, they would call each other by their first names. It was one more way of breaking down the barriers to the kind of intimacy she wanted.

“That’s wonderful, Harris.” She paused a moment. “Did you bring what I asked you to?”

“Yes, Kara,” Harris said.

“Wonderful. Give it to me, Harris, please.”

The hypnotized man bent over and unlocked the briefcase he’d brought with him. He reached inside and withdrew a large manila envelope. He put it on Dr. Pendleton’s desk, re-locked the briefcase, and settled back in his seat, waiting to be told what to do next.

Kara opened the envelope and inspected its contents, a set of computer diskettes and a folder containing paper memos. Yes, she thought, this looked like the right stuff. She closed the envelope and put it in her desk, then addressed Harris.

“Very good, Harris,” she praised him. “You brought just what I asked. You understand, don’t you, that you mustn’t remember doing so? When you leave our secret place, you will leave that memory behind and never recall it again.”

“Understand,” Harris said. “Mustn’t remember giving you . . . what I gave you. Leave the memory behind . . . in our secret place. Never . . . recall it . . . again.”

“Very good, Harris.” She smiled at him. “Harris, there is a wonderful couch over there.” She pointed. “Go over to it and lie down.”

There was, indeed, a large couch against one wall. Some of her patients preferred the stereotypical “couch session,” and she had her own uses for that piece of furniture. Harris went over to it and lay down obediently.

“That’s right,” she assured him. “Now just lie there, so-o-o relaxed, until I speak your name. You will notice nothing that happens here until you hear me say your full name, Harris Weldon. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Harris responded. “Lie here. So-o-o relaxed. Notice nothing until . . . you say my full name.”

Dr. Pendleton looked at the man now totally zoned out on her office couch. Satisfied, she pressed the intercom button on her desk phone and spoke: “Mr. Ainsley, you may come in now.”

A moment later, a nondescript individual in a gray suit entered Kara’s office. Seeing Weldon on the couch, he almost backed right out again, but the therapist held up a restraining hand.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “Mr. Weldon doesn’t even know you’re here. Right now, he’s dead to the world, and he’ll stay that way until I say his complete name.”

Ainsley nodded, still looking faintly skeptical. “You have the items we agreed on?” he asked.

Kara took the manila envelope out of her desk drawer and handed it to him. “See for yourself.”

As Dr. Pendleton had done, Mr. Ainsley carefully inspected the envelope’s contents. Finally, he grunted approval.

“And the money?” Dr. Pendleton asked.

“Half now, half after your employers take possession. That was the deal, right?”

The therapist nodded.

“One moment.” The gray-suited man narrowed his eyes. “Sure, this material looks genuine, but how do I know it really is? You could be palming off garbage on me, and I wouldn’t know till too late.” He extracted a computer disk from the envelope and held it up. “How do I know there’s even anything on here? For all I know, you and Sleeping Beauty over there are working together.” He crossed to the couch and gave Weldon a vindictive kick; Dr. Pendleton tensed, but the entranced man didn’t react.

“That wasn’t necessary. He’s genuinely under.” The therapist was angry now. Bad enough this twerp thought she was trying to cheat him—now he was challenging her professional competence as well. “I assume you have some way of contacting your employers?” It had been agreed at the beginning that she was never to mention Tomishu by name. There was an etiquette to these things, it seemed.

“Yes, of course.”

“Then here’s my offer.” Dr. Pendleton’s voice was cool. “Either pay me as per our original arrangement, or wait until you’ve verified everything and pay me then—double the agreed amount.”

“Double!” it came out as a squawk. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!”

“I’ve also got something your employers want, very badly,” the doctor observed. “And if you try to leave here with it against my wishes, I can have building security after you before you’re out of the reception area. I don’t think your bosses would be happy if you got yourself arrested with that material in your possession, do you?”

Ainsley scowled, then nodded sourly. From inside his jacket, he produced a cell phone. He punched a speed-dial number. Presently he was speaking into the phone, explaining the situation and giving the doctor’s terms.

He listened for a bit, then nodded. “All right. Yes, sir.” Turning to Dr. Pendleton, he said, “They’ve agreed to the double payment on verification.”

“I thought they might,” the doctor observed smugly. “No one turns to these sorts of measures unless they’ve got no alternative.”

“You’re playing a risky game,” Ainsley observed. “You’d better be on the level, Doctor, or you’ll wish you’d never heard of us.”

Dr. Pendleton gazed at him calmly, confidently. “Speak to your bosses again and set up a drop for the money.”

Ainsley did as she’d directed and relayed his employers’ instructions. “I’m to call you from a pay phone exactly two weeks from this moment”—Dr. Pendleton glanced at her wall clock, which showed 2:45—“and provide the time and location for the money handover. As you originally requested, it will be in cash, tens and twenties.”

“That will be satisfactory,” declared the doctor. She handed over the envelope. “I believe this concludes our business for today.” Glancing at Weldon, she continued, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a session to finish.”

With a curt nod, Ainsley left the therapist’s office, taking with him the envelope and the small satchel containing what was to have been her half-payment.

Weldon looked utterly peaceful, his face boyish, as his therapist approached him. It seemed almost a shame to disturb him. But—Kara laughed softly—he’d enjoy what she had in mind as much as she would. She’d see to that.

“Harris Weldon,” she addressed him. His name trigger worked instantly: he oriented on her voice, turning his head toward her. She pulled up the small chair she used when conducting a regular couch session and sat down in it. “Listen carefully.”

“Yes,” he responded.

“You find me attractive, don’t you? Very attractive.”

“Yes,” Harris said more firmly. “Very attractive.”

“You want me. Desperately.”

Harris gasped, “Want you. Desperately . . .!”

The doctor removed her jacket and dropped it on the floor, then unbuttoned her blouse and did the same with it.

“Kara,” croaked Harris. His hands came up to cup her ample breasts, and Kara wriggled in pleasure. Yes, oh yes. She reached out and began undressing her hypnotized patient as his hands gently massaged her bosom.

When she reached his pants, he stirred, mumbling a faint protest. “Should we . . . be doing this . . .?”

“Shhh,” she responded. “We’re in our secret place. There are no worries here, no inhibitions, remember? Whatever happens here is just between us, and you will forget all about it when you leave here. Remember?”

“Yes,” Harris responded robotically. “No worries. No inhibitions. Forget whatever happens . . . when I leave . . . our secret place.” He relaxed.

Kara resumed undressing him, and suggested, “Help me, Harris. Take off the rest of my clothes as I take off yours. It feels so good to do that together, doesn’t it.”

“Yes,” Harris breathed, reaching for Kara’s skirt. “Yes. Yes.”

Very soon, both of them were nude, and Kara sank onto Harris. The last item to go had been her glasses; by then, she’d been so turned on herself she almost forgot to remove them and place them carefully on her desk.

Harris plunged into her, and the two of them moved together in ecstasy. Time passed.

Finally, Kara pulled herself off her mindless steed. For a few moments, his body continued to buck and thrust, until it sensed its female partner was gone. Then, with a final shudder, Harris lay still, a blissful smile spreading across his features.

“Well!” Dr. Pendleton, catching her breath as she began to dress herself again. “That was certainly . . . refreshing.” She looked speculatively at Harris where he lay smiling on her couch. She’d put in a lot of effort to prepare him; it would be a shame to end it just because she’d completed her contract.

Dr. Pendleton had been reluctant, at first, when Tomishu Electronics had approached her with its proposal to “turn” Weldon, a key sales executive for its American rival DynaCorp. What had persuaded her had, of course, been the money—that, and the challenge Tomishu’s representative had laid down.

“We understand that you are considered highly skilled, despite your youth,” the silken-voiced Japanese had said. “If you feel, however, that what we ask is beyond your abilities . . . we can always go elsewhere.”

That had done it. She’d been manipulated, and she knew it, but certainly the fifty thousand dollars she’d been offered was worth it. She’d been told to expect another visitor, an American this time to obscure the Japanese involvement, who would bring her money and collect the information she was to obtain through her subject. She hadn’t expected someone like Ainsley, but his attitude had given her the chance to do a little string-pulling of her own.

Weldon would never know how she’d carefully programmed him, session after session, to collect the crucial corporate data requested by Tomishu, and equally carefully questioned him as to his progress. A week ago she’d confirmed that he had gotten it all, and she’d called the contact number she had been given.

She had addressed his insomnia too, of course. She was taking his money, after all, just as she was Tomishu’s, and a contract was a contract. It had been easy enough to implant commands which would help him to relax at night, especially since he actually wanted to obey such suggestions.

Using him for sex had been a temptation from the start, but only in this latest session had she actually gone through with it. She could lose her license if it came out, maybe even face prosecution. Then again, she could go to prison for using her skills for industrial espionage. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the old saying went.

In any case, it wouldn’t come out.

The therapist addressed her patient again. “Harris, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Kara,” answered Weldon.

“You need to get dressed now, Harris. In a few moments, we will be leaving our secret place. As I told you before, when you leave our secret place, you will forget everything that happened there. You will remember only being deeply relaxed, and that I helped you again with your sleeping problem. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Kara,” Harris answered dreamily. “Leaving . . . our secret place . . . soon. Forget everything . . . that happened there . . . when I leave. Remember only . . . being very relaxed and . . . that you helped me again.”

“Very good, Harris. Now before I take you out of our secret place, you must get dressed. Do it now, Harris.”

“Yes, Kara,” Weldon assented. He obeyed her command, retrieving his discarded clothes and putting them back on. His eyes were open as he did so, but empty. The engine was running, but someone else was doing the driving for the time being.

Finally he was done. He sat on the couch, motionless, waiting for his next instruction.

It was time to bring him awake. Dr. Pendleton addressed him carefully, using the script she had developed in their earlier meetings.

“Harris, I am going to count up from zero to three, and as I do so, we will leave our secret place and return to my office. When we return to my office, you will forget everything that happened in our secret place. As always, you will even forget our secret place exists, until the next time I take you there. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” came the answer. “You will count from zero to three . . . and we will leave our secret place . . . and return to your office. When we return to your office . . . I will forget what happened in our secret place. I will forget our secret place exists . . . until the next time . . . you take me there.”

“Very good, Harris.” Kara Pendleton smiled. “Zero. We are in our secret place. You are relaxed and ready to leave.”

Harris nodded.

“One. We have left our secret place and are beginning the journey back to my office.” A hint of consciousness flickered in Harris Weldon’s eyes.

“Two. We are nearing my office.” Harris stirred.

“Three,” Dr. Pendleton said. Weldon seemed about to awaken. “We are in my office. You are relaxed and focused only on my voice. My voice still fills your mind and provides your thoughts.”

The doctor turned away from her patient, walked across her office and reached up into a bookcase across from her desk. She took down a video recorder which had been concealed there with its lens positioned to take in most of the room, including the couch, and pushed the “off” button. Then she put the recorder back and returned to Weldon.

“Mr. Weldon,” she said, when I say your full name, you will awaken fully, relaxed and alert. You will remember only that we had a very successful session. You should have no further trouble with insomnia, but if you do, you will return to me for further sessions. You will consider no other therapist. Are we agreed?”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton,” Weldon said. Now that they were no longer “in their secret place,” he no longer saw the two of them as on a first-name basis. “We are agreed.”

“Excellent!” Dr. Pendleton smiled triumphantly. She hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to deliberately sabotage the treatment Weldon had paid for, but if he turned out to need more, he’d come to her, and she’d have fresh opportunities for a little extra fun. “Wake up, Harris Weldon.”

Weldon blinked, and his eyes cleared. “Wow,” he said. “That was intense. I must have been really under!”

Kara laughed. “Yes, you were! You’re a good subject.”

“Will I need more sessions?” Weldon asked.

“I don’t think so,” the therapist assured him. “If you do, though, I’ll be happy to fit you in.” In more ways than one, she thought, suppressing a smirk.

Harris made out a check for the session, handed it to the doctor, picked up his carrying case and left. He had no memory whatever that he had given Kara Pendleton anything else; no memory that he had even collected the information he had handed over.

The drop took place without a hitch.

The phone call came through right on schedule. Dr. Pendleton had cleared her schedule for that day and hour, so she was, as she needed to be, alone when it came. She picked up, and after identifying herself and verifying her caller’s identity, asked, “Are you satisfied with the merchandise?”

The voice on the other end said, “Yes. The material you provided appears authentic.”

“Where and when, then, do I pick up the money?”

The doctor’s caller instructed her to be sitting on a particular bench in the park across from her office at six o’clock. She would, the voice stated, receive payment then.

And she did. Ainsley made the delivery, looking dyspeptic. Dr. Pendleton suspected that after he’d made such a point of distrusting her, his bosses’ opinion of his judgment had gone down when she’d delivered as promised.

“Here it is, as agreed,” he said, handing over a satisfyingly full-looking satchel. “Double the original fee. In full.” That couldn’t have endeared him to his bosses, either, Dr. Pendleton thought smugly. In the corporate world, mistakes were one thing; mistakes which cost money were another.

“Thank you,” Kara said, taking the bag. “Convey my respects to your employers.”

“Do you want to count it?” There was an edge to Ainsley’s voice.

“No, thanks,” the therapist said. “I’m sure your bosses wouldn’t try to cheat me. After all, we might wish to do business again sometime.”

“That possibility has been raised,” Ainsley said. “I was told not to mention it unless you brought up the subject, but based on this case, my employers may offer similar contracts to you in the future.” He paused before adding, “I’m directed to say that they may pass your name to others, as well, who may have difficulties your talents may be useful in, ah, fixing.”

Well, well, well, Kara exulted. Better and better.

“Don’t get carried away,” Ainsley warned her. “There won’t be that many contracts. Just keep it in mind that you may be contacted again.”

“I will,” promised the therapist. “Tell your people that I’m interested.”

Ainsley nodded and said, “We’re done here, then.” Hunching his shoulders in the heavy overcoat he was wearing against the fall chill, the representative from Tomishu Electronics moved away.

At home that evening, despite what she’d said to Ainsley, Kara couldn’t resist counting the money. As she had expected, the amount was correct: a hundred thousand dollars! As a therapist, she was quite well paid, but even so, a hundred K was a nice chunk of change. And of course there were the checks Weldon had paid her, and—she laughed softly, remembering—the extra, non-monetary reward she’d gotten from him. Idly, she wondered what Ainsley’s bosses at Tomishu would make of that if they knew.

Counting the cash was such a turn-on that after a while, she stripped naked and simply wallowed in it, pleasuring herself as she rolled in the bills.

Who says crime doesn’t pay? The therapist thought at last, smiling wickedly. Now all I have to do is arrange things so the IRS doesn’t get excited about the extra money. Perhaps an account in the Caymans, or in Switzerland. . . .

Lying on her living-room sofa, naked under a blanket of money, Dr. Kara Pendleton finally fell asleep. Her dreams were those of avarice and lust.