The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Carla surveyed the restaurant’s dining area carefully.

Yes, there! Sitting across the room, dressed in an expensive suit and with a neat, also expensive-looking attaché case tucked under his seat. And the tables closest to him were empty, too, meaning she’d have him to herself. Smiling, she walked across toward him. When she was close enough, she gave a sudden cough, which had the desired effect: he looked toward her.

Her smile broadened. She had him now.

His eyes widened. Carla was used to the stunned look men got when they first saw her: five feet eight inches tall, with dark brown hair cascading halfway down her back, big blue eyes in a beautiful heart-shaped face, and a spectacular 44DD-22-38 figure. Even before she’d developed her secret weapon, she could usually get them to do just about anything. With it, of course, you could forget the “just about” part.

She’d reached his table. “Excuse me,” she said, “do you mind if I sit here?”

“Huh? Whaa—?” With an effort, her target pulled his eyes away from her chest. “Sure. I mean, no, I don’t mind.” He jumped up to pull out a chair for her, and she sat, carefully looping the strap of her purse over the back of her chair. He sat back down.

“My name is Carla Carrington,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Um, uh, ah,” her companion blithered. “I’m, that is, my name is Eric. Eric Ryndell.”

“Eric,” repeated Carla. “That’s a nice name. What do you do for a living, Eric?”

“I’m a computer programmer,” responded Eric. Without his realizing it, his eyes had drifted down from her face again. A lot of women would have been offended, but Carla wasn’t; she knew it meant he was vulnerable to her. She began breathing slightly more deeply, moving her torso gently from side to side in rhythm with her breaths.

“Ooo,” Carla breathed. “You must make a ton of money!”

“Uh, um, not really,” Eric replied. He was breathing harder now, his eyes following the motion of her chest. As she’d planned, the shiny red fabric of her strapless dress was rippling with reflections, and Eric’s eyes were struggling reflexively to follow the shiny dazzles. The effort was clearly disorienting him, which was just what Carla wanted.

Carla ordered drinks for both of them, and kept Eric talking about himself while she waited for them to arrive. That was easy; most men loved to talk about themselves. She carefully guided the conversation and learned that Eric was a top programmer at a business software vendor, CorpoTech Solutions. He made two hundred fifty thousand a year in salary alone, and considerably more in bonuses and stock options.

He was perfect. Even physically. Curly brown hair framed a ruggedly handsome face. Eric had told her he was forty-three, but he could have passed for thirty-five, and the suit he was wearing hinted at a lean, muscular physique underneath.

“Do you work out, Eric?” cooed Carla. “I bet you do.”

“Work out,” Eric repeated dreamily. “Yes. Three nights a week. And Saturdays. At Thompson’s Gym on Thirty-fourth.”

Carla studied him, and relaxed, stopping the sinuous swaying of her body and letting her breathing return to normal. He was softened up enough for now. Any more, and the drinks would put him right out. She didn’t want that.

Just then, their order arrived: two martinis. They drank in silence. Afterward, they talked some more over a second round of drinks. Slowly, Eric emerged from the daze he’d been in.

Before he could snap out of it entirely, though, Carla deepened her breathing again and resumed her gentle side-to-side motion. His resistance already weakened by her earlier work on him and by the alcohol he’d consumed, Eric immediately began drifting again, his eyes trying to follow the pretty patterns of light her motion caused to undulate over her beautiful form. Trying to follow . . . follow . . . follow. . . .

“Sh-sh-shiny,” he gasped at last. “Pretty.” It was an effort to say even that much with the beautiful rippling lights washing through his mind.

“Yes, that’s right, Eric,” Carla said soothingly. “My dress is very shiny, very pretty. It’s hard to take your eyes off it, so hard, don’t try, Eric. You love looking at my dress, love the way it shines, love the way the lights ripple over it, don’t you. Of course you do.”

“Of course . . . I do.”

“But of course the dress is as pretty as it is because of what’s under it,” she continued. “Do you want to see what’s under my dress, Eric?”

A wordless moan was the only response. Peeking under the table, Carla saw that Eric had a massive erection bulging in his trousers.

“Now, Eric,” she scolded, “I need a yes or a no. Do you want to see what’s under my dress?”

“Yes,” Eric groaned. “Yes! Yes! Please. . . .” He was shuddering in ecstasy now.

“Then I need you to prove how much you want it,” Carla said. “If you really want to see the body under this dress, you’ll do exactly as I tell you.”

“Exactly . . . as you tell me.”

“That’s good, Eric,” Carla went on. “In a moment, I’m going to snap my fingers. If you really want to see me again, to see the body under this dress, then when you hear me snap my fingers, you will come, more powerfully than you ever have in your life. Do you understand me, Eric?”

“Yes.” Eric’s voice was that of a sleepwalker. “You will snap . . . your fingers. When you snap them . . . I will come.”

“Good boy, Eric.” Carla snapped her fingers.

Eric’s reaction was instantaneous. With a squeal of pure, mindless pleasure, he came, arching his back and thrashing his arms and legs so forcefully that he nearly fell out of his chair. Afterward, he lay slumped in his seat, eyes half closed and a silly smile on his face.

That was enough for Carla. This one was definitely a keeper. On top of all his other pluses, he was so susceptible that in just one session she’d been able to make him orgasm on command, in a public place. When she was done with him, she’d own him completely—and everything he owned, too.

But that was for later. For now . . . “Eric,” she addressed the happily stupefied man seated limply across from her, “can you hear me?”

“Yes,” came the answer. “Hear you.”

“That’s very good, Eric,” she said encouragingly. “Now I want you to listen closely, and do exactly as I say.”

“Listen closely. Do exactly . . . as you say.”

“You’re very sleepy now, aren’t you, Eric? So-o-o sleepy. Your eyelids are so heavy, you can hardly keep them open.”

“Yes, Carla,” Eric said. His eyelids fluttered, nearly closing. ”So-o-o sleepy. . . .”

“You want to sleep, you need to sleep, you’ve had a wonderful experience and you’re falling asleep,”

“Yes, Carla.” Eric yawned. His eyes closed completely. His head started to droop.

“But you mustn’t fall asleep here in the restaurant. You know you mustn’t fall asleep, but you can’t help it, you’re so comfortable, so relaxed.”

Eric only mumbled. His head sagged a little more.

“I’m going to help you, Eric. I’m going to help you wake up. You know you need my help, don’t you, Eric? Without my help you’ll fall into a deep, deep sleep right here in the restaurant, head down right on the table, and you mustn’t do that.”

“Mustn’t do that,” Eric murmured.

“In a moment, Eric, I’m going to count backwards from three. When I reach zero, you will wake up, relaxed and refreshed.”

“Relaxed and refreshed.”

“That’s right.” Carla’s voice took on an urgent tone. “Now Eric, this is very important. When you wake up, you won’t notice that you came in your pants. You won’t remember what happened after I sat down at your table. All you’ll remember is that I shared some drinks and conversation with you, and gave you my phone number, and that you had a very good time with me and want to see me again.” Producing a pen from her purse, Carla scribbled a number on a napkin and passed it to Eric; his hand closed on it automatically. “Tomorrow evening after six, you’ll call this number and we’ll set up a second date. You want that more than anything, don’t you, Eric.”

“Yes,” Eric responded. “More than anything.”

“Then you’ll do everything I ask? Remember only what I’ve told you to remember, and call me for a second date tomorrow?” Carla thought a moment and added with a smug smile, “And you’ll pay for my drinks, too, won’t you, Eric? Of course you will, that’s a good boy.”

“Yes,” Eric said again. “I’ll do . . . everything you ask. Remember . . . only what you’ve told me to remember. Call you . . . for a second date tomorrow.” He paused just as Carla had, then continued: “And I’ll . . . pay for your drinks. Of . . . course I will.”

“I’m so glad we understand each other, Eric,” Carla crooned. “Three. Two. One. Zero.”

Eric blinked. His head came up. He sat straight in his chair and smiled, utterly unaware of the dampness at his crotch.

“Well,” Carla announced, “I need to be going now, Eric. It’s been fun. ‘Bye now.” She got up and left, pausing only to turn and flash the programmer a friendly smile and wave.

Eric sat there alone for a while. That was something, he thought. He’d dated some good-looking girls, but never anyone like her.

He shook his head in wonder. All they’d done was talk, and have a few drinks, but he felt a connection with her. Looking at the scribbled-on napkin clenched in his fist, he was sure she must have felt the same way. Why else would she have given him her number?

It was time to go home, he decided. He called the waitress over and asked for the bill. When it came, he paid it cheerfully, leaving a big tip, and left. It never occurred to him to be annoyed with Carla for sticking him with the tab for her drinks. For her part, Carla was very satisfied. As she drove home in her flashy late-model Mercedes, she gloated over the way this Eric Ryndell had fallen under her spell. He looked like a promising pigeon indeed.

Men were such tools, she thought contemptuously. Especially for her, since she’d learned the trick she thought of as her “secret weapon.”

They said clothes made the man. Well, she’d found out how to use clothes to make men do anything she wanted, believe anything she wanted—how to literally hypnotize them with her clothes. Lots of shiny material, gems, studs, sequins, all stretched tight over a body men could hardly keep from staring at anyway. Sometimes when she was feeling particularly playful she used fur boas and other accessories, too. The whole point was to rivet a man’s attention, draw him in until he forgot about everything else. The breathing technique and rhythmic movements she’d perfected helped to keep her prey’s attention focused where she wanted it, until he was under and it was impossible for him to focus on anything else.

Lots of guys had clothing fetishes, too, secret sexual obsessions that made them especially responsive to her technique. The way Eric had reacted, she’d bet he was one of those, even if he didn’t know it himself; sometimes they didn’t.

Carla smiled. She had preparations to make before Eric called tomorrow evening. She was sure he would. It wasn’t as if he had any choice, after all.

All afternoon, Eric had been bothered by a vague feeling that there was something he was supposed to do, something important. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember what it was.

The old grandfather clock in his living room, one of the few things he’d taken with him from his parents’ home after they died, gonged six times. Suddenly, he remembered what he needed to do.

Sure—he was supposed to call that gorgeous brunette he’d met yesterday. She’d asked him to call to arrange a second date. How the hell could he have forgotten something like that?

A crumpled napkin from the restaurant where they’d met lay beside the phone. Eric picked it up and unfolded it. Just as he’d thought he recalled, Carla’s phone number was on it. He repeated the number a couple of times to fix it in his memory, then picked up the phone and punched in the digits.

On the second ring, the call was answered. “Right on time,” Carla’s voice said. Was it his imagination, or did she sound faintly smug?

Eric shook his head. It didn’t matter.

“Listen,” he said, “do you still want to go out?”

“Sure,” answered Carla. “How about tonight?”

“That’s fine with me,” Eric responded. “Where do you want to go?”

Carla was silent for a few moments, as if considering her options. Finally she said, “How about the place where we met?”

Eric nodded. Then, feeling foolish—she couldn’t see him nodding over the phone!—he said, “Sure. Do you want to meet me there, or should I pick you up?”

“Why don’t you pick me up?” she suggested. She went on to give careful directions to her place. “About seven-thirty?”

“Seven-thirty it is.”

There was a click, and then a dial tone.

Eric hung up the phone, wondering at himself. He didn’t usually let a woman take charge on a date the way Carla just had. What was it about her, anyway?

He smiled, shaking his head again. Whatever it was, he liked it. And after all, what harm could it do?

He dressed in a fresh suit and shaved, then headed out.

Carla lived in a large private home on the outskirts of town, one of those places which once belonged to upper-middle-class families but which, these days, were too expensive for anyone but the genuinely wealthy. Marble steps led up to a porch whose roof was supported by fluted columns. The door had an old-fashioned brass knocker. Eric used it.

Almost immediately, the door opened. A handsome, muscular man in a tuxedo came into view and addressed him: “Mr. Ryndell, sir?”

“Yes, I am,” Eric confirmed.

The tuxedoed man produced a cell phone from an inside pocket and spoke into it. “Your gentleman escort is here, Mistress Carla.” He listened intently for a few moments, then went on, “As you command, Mistress.” Turning to Eric, he announced, “Mistress Carla has been expecting you. She will be here directly.”

And she was. Carla Carrington appeared within moments. When he saw her, Eric whistled appreciatively.

Carla had dressed in a glittering gold sheath with plunging neckline and back. A small tiara adorned her hair, which was wound intricately atop her head. Glittering emerald bracelets encompassed her wrists, matching the necklace she wore. White sandals completed the ensemble.

“You like?” she asked, turning to display the full package.

His mouth dry, Eric nodded.

“Let’s go, then,” she commanded, and they went.

The evening passed in a blur for the enthralled computer programmer. He hardly tasted the food, which he’d let Carla order for both of them. He was content to gaze at his beautiful companion and listen to her. He answered when she asked him something, and laughed as if by reflex when she told a joke—but what she actually said was much less important than the way the lights gleamed off her sheath and the jewelry she wore.

At one point, he tried to ask her how she could afford it all—the beautiful clothes, the lavish house, the butler. She didn’t seem to actually work for a living, so where did the money come from?

When he brought the subject up, though, she just laughed. “I have my ways,” she told him. He’d been about to ask her what that meant, but she’d begun inhaling and exhaling rhythmically and toying with her emerald necklace, and his eyes had followed her movements and the bright green flashes bouncing off the stones, the rippling lights playing over the tight fabric covering her body, and somehow he’d lost track. . . .

His next awareness had been some vague time later. She was breathing deeply in and out, and saying to him, “Yes, that’s right, in and out, in and out. Isn’t it pretty the way the light plays over the fabric of my sheath, the gems around my neck, as I breathe in and out, in and out. . . .”

He heard a man’s voice he hardly recognized as his own: “Yes. Pretty. In and out . . . in and out . . . pretty . . . in and out . . .”

Carla raised her arms, locking her hands together in her hair behind her head and leaning just a bit farther toward him. “Keep your eyes on me, Eric honey, that’s right, see how the light ripples and flashes, the pretty light, watch the pretty light, watch your beautiful Carla and listen to my voice, yes. . . .”

“Yes,” Eric droned. “Keep my . . . eyes on you. Watch the . . . pretty light. Watch . . . beautiful Carla. Listen to . . . her voice.” His eyes followed the sinuous movements of Carla’s body.

Carla smiled and stopped moving. Now for the next phase.

“You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you, Eric honey?” Her voice was a purr.

“No,” he admitted helplessly. “Can’t . . . keep my eyes off you.”

“You want me, don’t you?” Carla smiled wickedly. “You want to see the body under these clothes, want to plunge yourself into it, don’t you? You want that more than anything.”

Eric moaned. “Yes. W-want you. Want to see . . . the body under those clothes. Want to . . . plunge into it. More than anything.” Blood drained from his head to his penis, further dulling his mind.

“Say please,” Carla teased, knowing he couldn’t help himself.

“Please,” Eric begged. “Oh, God, please. . . .“

“Good boy.” Carla reached across the table and ruffled Eric’s hair. “In a moment, Eric honey, I’m going to snap my fingers. When I do, you will imagine me naked, and you will come, powerfully, the way you did last night. Do you understand my commands?”

“Yes,” Eric answered in a robot’s voice. “When you snap your fingers . . . I will imagine you naked. When I do, I will come . . . the way I did last night.”

“Good boy,” Carla praised him. Then she held up her right hand and snapped her fingers, loudly.

Suddenly all Eric could see was Carla, naked. It didn’t occur to him to wonder how he could be seeing any such thing; he was much too busy, his body spasming and squeezing in ecstasy, spurting in his pants as Carla had ordered.

He gradually relaxed, a dopey smile on his face. His eyes, which had rolled up into his head in the midst of his pleasure, refocused on Carla’s chest.

Carla addressed him: “Eric honey, can you hear me?”

“Mnnhh,” he responded. “Hear you.” He was still drifting. “Good boy,” she said. “Now Eric, in a moment, I’m going to snap my fingers again. This time, when I snap my fingers, you will wake up, relaxed and happy. Just like last night, you won’t remember what happened, and you won’t notice that you came in your pants. Do you understand? Repeat my instructions if you understand.”

“Yes,” murmured Eric drowsily. “Understand.” In a low voice, he repeated Carla’s commands.

“And Eric,” Carla added, “when you wake up, you will want to go home with me. You will take me home, and when we get there, I will ask you in and you will accept my invitation. You will not remember this conversation. Do you understand, and will you obey?” She ruffled Eric’s hair again and added, “Say, ‘Yes, Mistress Carla’ and nod your head if you understand and will obey.”

“Yes, Mistress Carla.” Eric nodded slowly.

“Good boy.” Carla snapped her fingers.

As the couple drove along in Eric’s car, Carla gloated silently. If anything, her prey had succumbed even more easily this time. Making him come while under her control was training him to associate submission with pleasure, a link his subconscious mind maintained even though he had no conscious memory of his trance sessions. And even when awake, he obeyed her implanted suggestions perfectly. Just as had happened before, he’d shown no awareness of the semen stain decorating the front of his trousers as he’d paid for their meal; he’d been oblivious even to the funny looks and whispered comments of some of the other diners, who had seen what he had not.

Soon, soon, at this rate, his conditioning would be complete.

They arrived. Eric got out of the car, came around to the passenger side and helped Carla climb out.

“Thank you,” she said. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

“I, I, uh, of . . . of course,” Eric stammered. Somehow, he felt off balance. Shouldn’t he at least try to take the initiative? But he followed the beautiful brunette inside obediently.

They sat on a plush couch in Carla’s spacious living room. There was a coffee table in front of it and small side table to its right, on which a telephone and a small bell rested. Carla picked up the bell and gave three sharp rings.

“Yes, Mistress Carla?” A tall, dark, handsome man in formal wear—not the guy who’d met him at the door earlier, Eric noticed, but a different one—appeared and bowed. There was something familiar about the words he’d spoken. Eric racked his brains: who had he heard say “Yes, Mistress Carla,” just like that, recently? The memory wouldn’t surface.

“Two martinis, please, Jones,” instructed Carla. The tall man nodded, said “Yes, Mistress Carla” again and moved away.

Eric, looking around the room at its lavish furnishings, which included antique chairs, ornate lamps and expensive-looking paintings in elaborate frames, was reminded of his earlier puzzlement at how she could afford it all.

“I know I asked you about this earlier,” he said apologetically, “but really, how do you manage it? Did you inherit money or something?”

“Naughty, naughty,” Carla scolded. Leaning back against the couch cushions, she began breathing rhythmically again, once more letting the light flow over the gold lamé fabric straining to confine her chest. “That’s a rude question, Eric.” She shook her finger at him reprovingly.

Then she smiled. “I know what you need,” she said. She brought one long leg encased in glittering material up onto the couch and laid it across Eric’s knees. He gasped at the contact, and her smile widened.

She flexed the shapely limb, allowing the illumination from the room’s overhead fixtures to flow in intricate patterns over it as it had done earlier across her chest. “You need to forget all about that silly question. Why don’t you just kiss me, starting at the hip, here,"—she waved a hand—“and ending at the toe of my shoe? And when you reach my toe, just forget all about your silly question, forever. It’s not important.”

“N-not . . . uhh! Important,” Eric moaned. He bent to kiss Carla where she’d indicated, rippling lights taking the place of thought.

His next memory was of groveling on the floor, kissing Carla’s shoe. There had been something he’d wanted to ask her, hadn’t there? But he couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter.

From above, he heard Carla say, “Thank you, Jones. Set them down here, that’s right. You may go home now; I won’t be needing you any more tonight.”

“Yes, Mistress Carla,” a male monotone answered.

“And of course you will forget all about being here tonight, Jones, won’t you?” Carla’s voice again.

“Yes, Mistress Carla,” the man’s voice said. Eric realized it belonged to the fancily dressed servant she’d sent for martinis. Lips still pressed to the toe of Carla’s glossy white shoe, Eric heard footsteps recede into the distance.

A moment later, Carla addressed him,

“Eric, you can get up now,” she said. “Our drinks are here.”

Eric obeyed. Carla patted a spot on the cushions hear her, and he occupied it. She handed him one of the two martinis now sitting on the coffee table. He took it and sipped gratefully, his mind whirling.

“What’s going on here?” he finally managed. “Did I just hear you tell that guy to forget about being here? And, well”—he flushed—“I don’t usually end up kissing a woman’s shoe on a date.”

Carla laughed, a rich peal of mirth. “No, I suppose you don’t.” She reached over and stroked his cheek. Her hand was cool against his flesh. “It’s very simple, really. Jones belongs to my harem.”

“Your what?“ Eric didn’t want to believe he’d heard correctly.

The brunette chuckled. “My harem, that’s right. You see, Eric honey”—she pulled her stroking hand away—“I’ve learned how to hypnotize men to do anything I want. And what I want is for them to give me anything I ask for, wait on me hand and foot, and fuck me silly on command. And I’ve got half a dozen trained already.” She dimpled. “Aren’t I a nasty selfish bitch?”

“You’re crazy, is what you are!” Eric began to get up. He couldn’t make up his mind whether to just walk out or use the phone to call the boys in the white coats to drop a butterfly net over Carla.

She took the decision out of his hands.

Looking into his eyes, she ran her hands slowly down her body, starting at the shoulders and tracing her marvelous curves, down over her breasts, her waist, her flaring hips. Still watching him, she stretched out both legs and bent to continue down her tapered limbs to her trim ankles.

Eric moaned and sat back down.

“You see,” Carla told him, straightening up and allowing her hands to retrace their earlier journey, “I’ve found that many men find jewelry and shiny fabric positively irresistible.” She caressed her torso, crumpling the fabric over it and bringing out new gleaming highlights in the material. “Enthralling, you might say.”

“You might . . . s-s-say,“ gasped Eric.

“Yes, I might,” the woman next to him replied. “As I said, I’ve got half a dozen men conditioned already. Jones, who brought us our drinks, is a happily-married executive for a major advertising firm. When I want him to serve me, I just call him on his cell phone and say a certain phrase, and his programming kicks in. He tells his wife he’s got a business emergency with a client—and when I let him go home, he even believes that’s what he was doing. Servicing a client.” She smirked. “And so he is. At my command, he funnels money from his own accounts into mine, and then remembers it as donating to some charity or other.” Gazing into Eric’s eyes, she went on, “I summoned him specially for our little get-together.

“Bart—the man who met you at the door—he’s different. I’ve got him permanently, as household staff. He didn’t have any money to, er, donate, but I liked his looks. I made him over as permanent household staff. He didn’t resist; it seems he’d always had a secret fantasy about serving as a beautiful woman’s butler and, um, other things.”

“B-buh-but . . . what about me?” It was a struggle for Eric to form the words while watching as Carla’s manicured hands continued to move up and down her body, adjusting her clothes, each small manipulation bringing out new patterns of reflection from the lustrous material. The light, the pretty patterned light. . . .

“Well,” answered Carla, “you’re an up-and-coming professional with a six-figure income. I’m sure we can think of something.”

“No,” Eric pleaded. “Don’t.”

“Yes,” Carla contradicted him. Standing, she smoothed her clothes and ran her hands through her hair. “Now come with me, Eric.” Seeing that he was struggling to resist, she chuckled again. “That’s right, fight it, keep fighting it—but you’re doing what I want, anyway, aren’t you? ”

And he was. His body stood up, obeying. As Carla turned and beckoned for him to follow, his legs moved by themselves. “That’s a good boy, Eric,” he heard Carla say. “Just keep on struggling just the way you are, and follow me. Follow me. Follow me.”

She moved out of the living room, and he followed as if on a leash.

Carla led Eric into her bedroom. Once they were inside, she faced him and commanded, “Undress me, Eric honey.”

“Uhhh,” he groaned. His hands reached out, and Carla guided them, helping him peel away the form-fitting sheath covering her body. Then his hands went to her hair, removing her tiara.

“Careful, honey,” Carla cautioned him. “That’s expensive.” She took the ornament from him and set it aside.

Carla had nothing on under the sheath. As she stood there, she was dressed only in her necklace, bracelets, and her glossy white shoes, her kissable shoes . . . ! Stop it, some remaining sane portion of his mind ordered. She’s messed with your head. Don’t give in, don’t!

“Now isn’t that better?” Carla smiled sweetly at him. “I know you wanted to see me naked, didn’t you? Come on, you can admit it.”

“Oh, God, yes,” poured from Eric’s mouth. Suddenly he was painfully hard.

Carla saw.

“Oh, my,” she cooed. “Is that all for me? It is, isn’t it?”

“Y-y-yes,” Eric stammered. “Oh God, YES!”

“Then take me,” Carla commanded. “Take off your clothes and take me, right here!”

Eric roared and ripped at his clothing. It didn’t matter that his arousal was artificial, that the woman was pulling his strings; nothing mattered but his need to pound into her, spurt his seed into her body.

Finally undressed, he seized Carla and threw her onto the bed. He plunged into her and began to pump. Her legs came up to clamp around him strongly; her arms encircled him, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair as his were now tangled in her own dark mane. Her ripe breasts bounced beneath him, and between them, her necklace gleamed, sending off glints of light which dissolved what little coherent thought was left to him.

Just as he was about to climax, Carla moved with surprising strength, reversing their positions so that she now straddled him. Her arms came out from behind him and she pinned his shoulders to the bed with her hands.

“No,” she commanded. “You can’t come until I say to.”

“Gnnhhh,“ Eric groaned. “Carla, nggh, please—!“ It was true. He was flying, shuddering with ecstasy, but he couldn’t let go, couldn’t finish.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I know you need to come. I know you need that more than anything. But you can’t, until you agree to something for me.”

“A-a-anything,” Eric gasped. “Anything! Just please, PLEASE—!”

“Then listen carefully, Eric honey,” Carla ordered. “Listen, and obey me, because obedience is pleasure.

“From now on, you belong to me. Anything you have is mine, whenever I want it. Repeat what I’ve just said, and obey.”

“From now on . . .I belong to you,” Eric agreed. “Anything I have is yours . . .whenever you want it.”

“You will so as I say, because obedience is pleasure. You will believe whatever I tell you. Repeat, and obey.”

“I will do . . . whatever you say, because . . . obedience is pleasure. I will believe . . . whatever you say.”

“When you are not with me, you will not remember what we do together. You will remember only what I tell you to remember. But you will obey, even when you do not remember.”

Eric repeated her words again.

“You understand that you are now part of my personal harem, to do with as I please. Nothing I do to you, or tell you to do, is wrong.”

“Yes, I understand,” Eric said. Once more, he repeated Carla’s commands. They made perfect sense to him. Of course he belonged to her harem, and how could anything she did or asked him to do be wrong?

“Good boy,” Carla said. “You may come now.”

There was an explosion of light, sound and sensation. It was wonderful, and his body thrashed and bucked in ecstatic release, pumping into Carla. The pleasure seemed to go on for ages. When it was finally over, he lay among the tangled bedsheets basking in the afterglow. The warm feel of Carla’s nude form atop his was soothing, comforting. His eyelids fluttered closed.

Some time later, he awoke to see Carla getting dressed. He sat up.

“Awake, I see,” the woman observed. “Then I suppose it’s time you went home.”

“Of course,” Eric said. It didn’t occur to him to suggest that he stay till morning. Carla had spoken. He got up and assembled his clothes from where they lay on the floor, and got dressed. His shirt, he noted, was somewhat the worse for wear; in his frenzy earlier, he’d ripped off a couple of buttons.

Carla addressed him again when he was fully clothed. “When you leave here, I want you to remember only that we had a hot date. Forget everything that had to do with me controlling you. Will you do that for me? Of course you will, Eric honey.”

“Of course I will,” he agreed.

“Tomorrow evening at six, you will call me and give me all your bank account numbers and access codes. Then you will forget making the call.” She smiled at him. “It’s just a test. I don’t expect to need them. You’ll give me any money I ask for, won’t you, Eric honey?”

“Of course,” he replied. But of course he’d make the call, and then forget it. Nothing Carla asked him to do was wrong.

“Good boy,” she praised him. “And tomorrow at seven, I’ll call you and arrange our next date. Be waiting by the phone, Eric honey.”

“I will,” he promised.

As Eric drove off, Carla watched and sighed. It was almost too easy. This Eric Ryndell had hardly even put up a fight.

Still—she smiled—he was good looking, and the sex had been great. True, he’d been under control, but even hypnosis could do only so much. His enthusiasm had been more than helpless programmed reflex. And he certainly had money enough. She could always use more of that.

Yes, this one was a definite keeper.

Carla went back inside. In her bedroom, she glanced at the sturdy shelf mounted on one wall. Six figurines stood there, modeled on Hollywood’s Oscar but made of brass by a friend of hers.

Very soon, there would be seven.