The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My brother Gene was whining again about never meeting girls. He’s smart and funny and good-looking, but he never actually approaches girls or talks to girls, so what does he expect? In the past I just told him to get a life and quit bothering me. This time I took pity on him.

A combination of things came together to his benefit. I was no longer a frightened freshman, but a confident and popular sophomore who acted as the social director and peer group leader for my large circle of college friends. Gene was a junior, a year older than me, but still hung out with the same little group of buddies, (none of whom were introducing him to any girls). I also had just finished listening to and sympathizing with a similar complaint (not meeting boys) from my best friend, Jean. (OK, not my BEST best friend, which would be Annie who was wild and crazy and met plenty of boys, but Jean was right up there on the friend list.) Besides, the two of them were perfect for each other.

I’ve read a few of the stories in the Archive where this will be posted, and the third paragraph is typically where I describe myself. My name is Andi, and I’m tall, with long legs, a great ass, flat stomach, big breasts, long golden-blonde hair, full pouty lips and piercing blue eyes. None of that is true, but now you’ve got a great visual to go with the narrative. Doesn’t matter, at no point (in this story) do I get naked or have sex with anyone. Another thing I might as well cover now, whenever I tell you what somebody was thinking at the time, it’s because they told me later (sometimes under hypnosis).

The thing is, Jean was just perfect for my brother. In fact they were perfect for each other. It’s amazing that I never saw it before. She wanted to be a research librarian, my brother was majoring in accounting. Both of them would rather spend an evening alone at home reading a book than go out to a bar with their friends. Pretty much the same books, for that matter. Not only did they share traditional, conservative attitudes (rather emphatically so) but they already knew each other. At least, they knew each other well enough that I could skip all the awkward introductions; they hadn’t ever hung out together (yet).

So I just looked for a fun event on campus and invited them both to go along with me. We ended up at the stage show of “The Amazing Dr. Quirk, Master of Hypnosis”. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Oh well, hindsight can’t help now.

The show was very good. Dr. Quirk was a natural entertainer. And no, none of us volunteered. No, we didn’t get accidentally hypnotised in the audience. We never saw Dr. Quirk again. Quit trying to skip ahead.

At intermission, Jean slipped out early to beat the line at the women’s bathroom. Gene and Jean were getting along great, I felt like a big success as match-maker. After the show was over, as we were waiting for Gene to use the men’s room, she confided to me that she had stopped in the lobby to buy the little paperback book “Dr. Quirk’s: Easy Hypnosis for Lovers”. When Gene came back, she tucked it in her purse and swore me to secrecy.

Later, after we dropped Jean off (she still lived at home with her parents, Gene and I each had an on-campus dorm room), I found out that Gene had bought his own copy of “Easy Hypnosis for Lovers”. I didn’t say anything to either of them, thinking to myself that they had so much in common, their developing relationship was going to be interesting to watch. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The next night, Gene had another date with Jean. They went out to a movie, had a great time together, and stopped at his place afterwards. Not that she was about to sleep with him so early on in their relationship, even though they really hit it off. She was a proper Good Girl. Not that Gene wanted to push things too fast. But he had read his copy of “Easy Hypnosis for Lovers” from cover to cover that day, and was eager to give it a try.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening, Jean, why don’t we relax and talk for a while before I take you home?”

“I can stay for a little bit, I suppose.”

“You look so tired.” Gene told her, “Why don’t you settle back and get comfortable? Just look into my eyes and feel all the tension and worry drain away from you.”

Cute, Jean thought, he’s trying to hypnotise me, just like Chapter 3. She closed her eyes and ended up falling asleep instead. Or so she thought.

“Wake up!” Gene shook her shoulder lightly, “We’ve got to get you home before your folks get worried. You looked so tired, I let you nap there, but it’s getting late.”

Gene had planned to get her comfortable and relaxed and then ask her about possibly trying to do some of the exercises and scenes from “Dr. Quirk’s”. As soon as he started, though, Jean got a strange look in her eyes, her face went slack, and she began responding right out of the induction from Chapter 3, word for word. (She had read the book that afternoon as well.) He couldn’t help himself, he gave her a few simple suggestions—she would agree to go out with him again, wear sexier clothes when they were together, and when he spoke a trigger phrase, respond by going into a deep trance.

For some reason, he also made her forget that he had hypnotised her. He felt guilty about putting her in a trance without asking first. Next time we try this, Gene thought, I’ll ask her permission first, then I can just use my secret shortcut trigger on her.

The very next afternoon, Jean found herself at Gene’s dorm room again. She was wearing a blouse that was cropped a little short, just enough to reveal her navel. It was the most daring thing she had ever worn out in public (except to go swimming), and she had bought it earlier that day just for this date. She was looking forward to their plans for an early dinner then an evening listening to jazz at a little club. She was also eager to try some of Dr. Quirk’s milder little suggestions, especially the footnote in chapter 5.

“You haven’t seen my other earring lying around here somewhere, have you?” Jean asked.

“No.” Gene answered, looking up, “Did you lose one last night?”

As soon as she had his attention, Jean held up a dangling, sparkling earring that she had chosen for just this task (its sister was in her purse).

“It looks just like this one,” she said. “Look at it closely. The two are just alike, pretty and glittering in such a fascinating way. If you keep watching, you may remember me wearing them. If you study it closely, you may remember seeing them before. If you keep looking at the pattern of sparkling light, you may remember seeing one around here somewhere. Are you looking closely?”

“Yes.”

“Are you concentrating your mind? Are you picturing my earring?”

“Yes.”

She was going to keep going, but Gene had stopped moving and was just staring at the dangling jewelry in her hand. He was already in a trance.

Jean kept her voice calm, and began to take him deeper into his trance. Then she began to give him some suggestions—that he would find her endlessly fascinating, he would fall easily into another trance when she spoke the trigger phrase, and that he would not remember being hypnotised at all. She added that last suggestion on impulse, at the last moment. She couldn’t recall the specifics, but he had done something last night that annoyed her, so she was going to play with his head a little before she revealed her actions to him.

The rest of the evening went really well, and though nothing was said, each of them was thinking—“This could be The One.”

“Wow, Jean, you look fantastic!” Gene greeted her the following week.

She was wearing very tight, low-slung jeans that emphasized her long legs and firm ass, along with a tank top cropped very short, baring her entire midriff. She blushed deeply and shrugged, which maybe she shouldn’t have, because it demonstrated that her top was short enough to reveal the underside of her breasts, and she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“We’re going out to this bar with some of my friends,” he continued. “You are really going to impress them!”

Jean couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to wear this outfit. She NEVER wore anything remotely like it. But lately as she dressed for her dates with Gene, she had gotten more and more extreme and daring and . . . . slutty. Even now she was planning even sexier combinations, and actually thinking about what she could get away in public with without being arrested for indecency or mistaken for a prostitute. Then, to her own horror, she realized she didn’t care if she was mistaken for a whore.

“Maybe we should relax a bit before we head out to meet the guys,” Gene told her. “I want you to Sleep Deeply for me now.”

Jean relaxed into a deep trance and slumped into the chair behind her.

“You will show off how sexy you are when you are with me. You’ll make an effort to impress everyone at the bar, and especially my friends, that you are one hot babe. You will make them all stare at you, and ogle you, and want you.” Gene instructed her. “You won’t remember being in a trance just now, but when you wake up you will follow my instructions.”

He knew she would be embarrassed, but for some reason he resented her and wanted to make her suffer a little. He still hadn’t told her about the hypnosis, even though he had put her under and reinforced his suggestions several times now. One thing his hypnotic suggestions had revealed (literally)—Jean wasn’t a drab librarian geek, she was incredibly sexy and beautiful when she wasn’t trying to hide her looks.

“Wake up now, and let’s go.” Gene commanded, still appreciating the lovely girl sitting in the chair before him.

“You know, I really owe my sister Andi BIG TIME for introducing us, and I should do ALL SORTS of nice things for her to try pay her back.”

OK. Gene didn’t actually say this. It is what he SHOULD have said, in my opinion. This is Andi, the narrator, (remember to picture a gorgeous, leggy blonde with high cheekbones and a dazzling smile), and I think I’m entitled to insert a few such comments as we go.

“That’s it. Keep going—just like that. I’ll tell you when to stop.” Jean had her man under her complete control now, he was licking her toes and massaging her aching feet. She wasn’t used to wearing high heels, she always wore sensible shoes. “You love to caress my feet. You worship my feet.”

Gene continued his attentions to her feet, and she thought about what a wild night it had been. She couldn’t believe what she had done on their date. She had entered the bar’s wet T-shirt contest; then she had WON the wet T-shirt contest. And the whole time she had been completely mortified with embarrassment, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself. Gene and his buddies had been leering at her all night, along with everybody else in the place. Now it was time to take care of HER needs. She really didn’t care if Gene found it humiliating. No—strike that—she PREFERRED it if he was humiliated. So there!

“If you don’t do a thorough job, you’ll get another spanking.” She told him.

“This will hurt me more than it does you,” Jean told him. Not really true, but it seemed like the thing to say. Not that she enjoyed spanking him, in fact she rather disliked it. But she wasn’t about to let him get away with it without some reprisal. She was furious with him, even though she couldn’t remember exactly why. For the last few weeks, (she guessed) she must have been drinking a lot, because she couldn’t clearly remember their dates anymore.

Gene was bent over to received his paddling, wearing nothing but a pair of her old panties and a frilly pink apron. Lately Jean had switched to wearing thongs, even though she had never cared for them.

“It pains me that Mistress finds this distressful,” Gene said. “It makes my hideous transgressions doubly wrong and I fully expect my punishment to be escalated accordingly.”

Jean resolved to limit him to a simpler vocabulary, whenever she had him under hypnosis. She had been looking through his kitchen drawers and had found a large wooden spoon she could use for the task at hand.

Their relationship was starting to be more and more work and unpleasantness, but she wasn’t about to break it off before she got even.

If only she could remember what she was getting even for.

My doorbell rang at 2:00 am, and I found Jean on my threshold in a state of near panic.

“Andi, you’ve got to help me.” Jean sobbed, “I can’t go home like this—what would my parents say?”

She was wearing a white mini-dress that clung to her like she’d had it applied with a spray gun. It was bright white and made of some sort of stretch-lycra miracle fabric; and looked like she had borrowed it from her Barbie collection and now it wanted to spring back to doll-size. Damn, Jean was hot. She looked like she was born to sell shampoo on TV, or swimsuits on magazine covers. Even though she was crying and more than a little drunk, she made me feel like a dumpy stablehand handling a beautiful, graceful thoroughbred. (Hopefully you are still picturing me as a tall blonde goddess, so I’ll explain these feelings by claiming I had a poor body self-image.)

“What happened?” I asked her, “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know!” She cried, “I can’t remember! I can’t ever remember our dates anymore! I don’t even know how I got this!”

Jean began to peel her micro-skirt up, revealing that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She seemed very casual about stripping in front of me. High on her hip there was a large bandage. She peeled this back as well. A stylized logo—“WM” was branded into her flesh.

The biggest and wildest nightclub for 3 states around was a place called “Willing Madness”. They had a reputation for near chaos and all manner of crazy sin and decadence inside. They ran a number of bizarre contests. One involved drinking your own body-weight in vodka. (One had to assume that wasn’t done in a single sitting.) Another had amateur strippers compete in an annual tournament. Jean had won 4 weeks in a row, and gotten their grand prize—a choice of several thousand dollars (I’m not really clear on the exact amount) or getting branded. The brand got you free admission and a free drink, every night for life. This is all stuff I learned later.

Jean wasn’t clear at all on that evening’s events, but she and Gene hadn’t returned to his room. He was too drunk, or something. And her long jacket was missing. And she couldn’t walk all the way home in high heels. She begged me to let her sleep on my couch. Of course I said OK.

We sat and talked about what had been going on. SHE was blocked from realizing the truth, but things soon became clear to ME. She described her own behavior, when out with Gene, getting wilder and wilder. Then she described what she was putting him through when she had him hypnotised. She didn’t link the two. She thought her whole life was unraveling, and that she was going crazy.

The very next day, I staged an intervention. Gene was sitting on one of my two chairs, and Jean was on the other. I stood facing them and said that no one was leaving till we aired out everything. They immediately started talking loudly (I’ll avoid the words “yelling” or “fighting”), both at once, making things difficult for all of us. I grabbed my police whistle and gave it a long, ear-piercing shriek. They both fell silent.

I must pause here to give credit to the residents of my floor. Within minutes of my whistle, a dozen people were pounding on my door, asking if I was alright. I explained the situation, and thanked everybody, and the next week I bought all the snacks for our floor party.

After the interruption, I began again to try to sort things out. Gene didn’t know that my friend had hypnotised him, and Jean didn’t know that my brother had hypnotised her. All they knew was that they each had huge, pent-up resentments over things they couldn’t quite remember. Another round of argument ensued. Then I came up with the brilliant idea of having each of them put the other into a trance and turn over control to me.

So I’m getting the whole story to come out for the first time, and learning how each of them escalated their cruelty, humiliation and degradation of the other. It was all so totally unlike either of them. These were the two nicest, kindest people that I knew, period. I was totally aghast at what they had each planned to do next. Gene was going to take Jean to the Alpha Beta Gamma (whatever) Frat party, make her strip and then have sex with all the guys there. Jean was going to parade Gene across campus wearing nothing but a dog leash and a pair of diapers, spend the week-end beating him senseless with various implements, then perform some sort of anal rape, (I stopped her before she could give the details).

You’re probably thinking to yourself that they were revealing some true, deep, subconscious desires, and that nobody can be made to do something they wouldn’t otherwise do. But I was questioning both of them about their true feelings (under hypnosis, remember) and didn’t get that impression at all. Gene was sickened by the thought of Jean having sex with all those other guys, but he was incredibly mad at her for reasons he couldn’t remember. On the other hand, he felt so guilty about what he had already done to humiliate her that he went along with her hypnotic commands when it was her turn to punish him. But then he couldn’t quite remember being punished.

Jean couldn’t stand the idea of having a foot-worshipping masochist sissy as her boyfriend. She didn’t even enjoy punishing and dominating him. But she also was obsessed with getting even for what he’d done to her (that she couldn’t remember), and co-operated in her own humiliation because she felt such incredible guilt over having taken such extreme revenge.

I am so glad I got to them when I did. They were in a feedback loop, spiraling rapidly downward into almost unimaginable cruelty and degradation. I’m only speculating, but I think it would take one of three things to stop the process. 1. Their subconscious minds would finally balk and refuse to obey the hypnotic commands. 2. Their conscious minds would refuse to inflict ever-more extreme revenge, even though they had the power to do so. Or 3. They would get tired and bored (or afraid) of the cycle of revenge and split up, and date other people.

We’ll never know now, because I spent the whole days fixing things. They agreed to call it even and forgive each other (big hug) and continue on with a fresh start. Neither one would hypnotise the other without permission, or use hypnotic suggestions to make the other forget things.

They hated everything that they had been made to do by each other, and they hated themselves for making the other one do things. About the only thing salvageable from their weeks of hypnotic adventures was Gene’s new-found ability to give really great foot-rubs.

They resumed dating in a more conventional manner (a term they both loved) and soon got engaged. Over the course of the next year Gene got a reputation as stuffy and boring. Jean was considered a prude, even a “frigid ice queen”. She did nothing to dispel this impression, in fact she encouraged it, expressing mild disapproval whenever her friends’ conversation or behavior began to drift towards sex or other “naughty” subjects. Their relationship was quiet; very mutually exclusive; and very, very private.

I was well aware that, among my wide circle of friends, Jean was actually having sex more often than any eight of them combined (including Annie!) The two of them were going at it like rutting weasels in heat, all the time. Jean, in particular, was now insatiable. Gene’s role was to come up with something creative and new (often involving hypnosis). Then Jean would want to do it, again and again and again.

And a little part of Jean still loved being put on display—switching to her secret, sexy persona. She needed a little help from hypnosis to overcome her inhibitions about letting loose in public. They would go out to someplace where no one would recognize them, and Gene would say “Unleash the Wild Slut” and Jean would become a shameless flirt and exhibitionist.

OK, you’re thinking you’ve tripped me up. I said they kept their sex life very, very private. You forget that afternoon when I had them, hypnotised by each other, under my control. I now have my own secret trigger phrase that I use to put them under, make them confess all their relationship details, and then I help keep things on track. They both owe me big time. I have them at the top of my speed dial list to help me when I move out of the dorm this summer.

No, I haven’t abused this power by giving them any secret commands . . . . yet.

EPILOG

I was having dinner with my friend Annie and her date, whose name I cannot remember. He was her “Flavour-of-the-Week” guy, and she has long since moved on, so I will just designate him [FotW]. (Yeah, sure, I could just call him John or Tim or something and you would never know the difference, but I’m trying to be accurate here.) My date was a jock named Buck. (I don’t think that was his actually name, but it was all he would give, and I didn’t end up knowing him long enough to learn any better.) Gene & Jean were supposed to join us later. In fact, they arrived just as we were finishing our meal and discussing what to do next.

“Hey, they’re finally here!” Annie said, “Did Bible study run late tonight?”

Jean just smiled and nodded. I knew the question was ridiculous, though. They went to Bible Class on Wednesday and this was a Friday night.

“This is my brother, Gene, and his fiancee, Jean,” I made introductions, “You both know Annie, and this is her date [FotW], and this is Buck.”

“That’s ‘Buck’,” he repeated, “Rhymes with ‘Fuck’.”

He clapped his hand over his mouth in mock embarrassment. “Sorry about the naughty word,” he leaned towards Gene & Jean and spoke in a loud stage whisper, “It’s an old English word for having S-E-X.”

He turned and grinned at the rest of us like he was SO clever.

“They might serve Root Beer here,” [FotW] ventured, “If you guys are ready for the hard stuff. Or you can just stick with a juice box.”

They were all laughing, even Gene & Jean (in a polite way), but my eyes were shooting daggers at Annie. My brother was NOT fair game for cruel jokes by some guy whose name none of us would remember next month. (Sometimes, it’s like I can see the future!)

We decided to walk downtown to find a club with some music and a dance floor. The first couple places we passed weren’t right for one reason or another. We found ourselves across the street from a huge club, music seeping out through the high windows, punctuated by louder blasts whenever the door opened. “Willing Madness.”

A long line stretched across the front of the building and around the corner. At the head of the line was an absolutely huge, and very capable-looking, doorman.

“That’s Willing Madness!” Annie exclaimed, “Let’s go there! I hear all kinds of things about what goes on there!”

“I don’t know,” Buck said, “What about the Goody-Two-Shoes here?” He gestured towards Gene & Jean. “I’ve been in there before—there’s Hard Liquor and Naked Women inside. A veritable den of Sin and Depravity.”

“We’ll manage somehow,” Gene said with a shrug.

We all started across the street. [FotW] made some comment about the long line, but Buck said it was more than worth the wait. We were heading for the corner where the line ran around the building when a loud whistle and a shout of “Hey, Andi! Guys!” made us turn around. Gene was waving and beckoning us.

Gene and Jean had walked right up to the doorman, cutting in front of the entire line. They said something to him and Jean bent down and grabbed the hem of her skirt. She was wearing a flower-print summer dress with a wide white collar and a skirt that fell below the knee. (She looked as though she HAD come from Bible class.)

She calmly hiked her entire skirt up past her waist. She had on a tiny black thong underneath, so she was flashing her bare ass at everybody in the line. They were all hooting and yelling to her as we hurried up. Jean pointed to the brand on her hip, and the doorman bowed and waved her right in. Gene had rolled up his sleeve, displaying a similar brand on his shoulder, and followed her. I have no idea how he got that. I will have to ask about it next time I get the chance.

As the four of us got there, they were standing just inside the door and the doorman was telling the couple at the head of the line “She’s got The Brand—lifetime privileges.”

He had closed the rope again and we couldn’t get in!

“Gene!” I yelled. He turned around and saw the four of us stranded there.

“It OK, Stuart, they’re with us.”

Somehow Stuart hadn’t realized that I was a tall, stunning, blonde bombshell, easily mistaken for a celebrity supermodel, and worthy of admission as a trophy client.

“All right, Gene, if you say they’re OK.” He let us in as well. Annie, Buck and Flavour of the Week were all just standing there, mouths agape.

The music was loud, but I was just close enough to hear Gene whisper to Jean: “I think you need to Unleash the Wild Slut.”