The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mostly, being six-foot-two (and a half) sucks.

For one thing, strangers are always staring. Sometimes, I can feel their eyes on me from all the way across a crowded room. And if they come up to me and start talking, half the time their eyes never go above chest level anyway.

Plus, everyone assumes that if I’m available at all, I’m only going to want to date members of the basketball team. Or, God help me, that I somehow think that, “How’s the weather up there?” is still funny.

What’s worse, no matter how much I want to, no matter how special the occasion—senior prom, graduation, bridesmaid at my cousin’s wedding—I can never (never!) wear any kind of a shoe with a heel. Even if I could get past feeling like even more of a freak, custom-made size fifteens cost at least a hundred dollars a pair.

Still, I’d be lying to you if I didn’t point out at least some of the plusses. For instance, I couldn’t exactly hide in the background, so I learned how to stand up for myself at an early age. And when I put on my “freshman five” in my first semester of college, no one noticed; who’s going to see a few pounds when you weigh one-sixty anyway?

Besides, I did play a sport in high school. Just not basketball; I was on the volleyball team. And I made all-state, and earned an athletic scholarship—as Coach Miller liked to put it, what I lacked in technique, I made up for in wingspan.

So here I was, halfway through my sophomore year at the State University of New York: a good student, a good athlete—and yet, still a virgin. It’s not even like I hadn’t dated, either. It was just that none of the boys I’d been with had been worth a third date; either they assumed right away that I was looking to get laid, or they just wanted to brag that they were the one who finally “mounted Mount Annika.”

That’s me. Annika van Witzenberg. Half Danish, half Dutch. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Big boobs; big everything. And, I probably don’t need to add, frustrated as hell.

Oh, and cute as a button too, at least according to my daddy. Even though he’s now an inch shorter than me, he still calls me his “little girl.”

I love my daddy.

And that’s just what I wanted in a man. Someone who’d make me feel loved. Someone I didn’t have to be strong for; someone who could let me be the little girl for a change.

I always assumed he’d be taller than me. All throughout high school, I had the biggest crush on Brad Garrett. It was so bad, my girlfriend Maddie used to joke, “Everybody else loves Raymond. But Annika loves Robbie.”

Late at night, and sometimes between classes, I liked to lie in bed, close my eyes, and imagine that Brad was there watching me. If it was nighttime, I’d take off my oversize shirt, leaving me in just panties and a sleep bra; during the day, I’d unbutton my blouse and undo the front of my skirt or jeans. “His” hands would cup and squeeze my large-and-not-very-sensitive breasts; and then I’d pretend that he’d asked me to slip my hand inside my panties.

I was usually pretty wet by then; my middle finger would quickly find my oversize clit, and I’d have to use part of my pillow to muffle my moans as I quickly brought myself off. This didn’t quite happen every day, but I was probably averaging at least four times a week.

And that’s pretty much how things stood, till the night of the show.

Did I mention that I’m a member of Tau Gamma, the local athletic sorority? Every year, in the week between finals and winter break, we rented out the Rat Cellar (really, the rathskeller; the basement of the student union) to co-host a mixer with our brother fraternity, Omicron Gamma Rho—the Ogres and the Togas. This year’s theme was “Bleary-Eyed and Brain-Fried,” a play on how most of us felt right after finals. True to the theme, there was plenty of alcohol—and someone had come up with the idea of hiring one of those professional stage hypnotists.

I don’t remember her name; it’s not important anyway. I wasn’t one of the volunteers, and I didn’t go up onstage. But apparently, I did zone out for a bit—and someone else noticed.

As he came over to where I was sitting, I sized him up; even with everything I’ve been through, sometimes I still can’t help myself. It’s not that he was all that short, anyway; he was at least five-nine, maybe five-ten. Definitely no Brad Garrett.

But he did have curly blond hair and soft eyes, and looked to be in great shape. His sweatshirt, which had a drawing of a big ugly ogre using his tree-club to smash a big stone letter R into a Rho (to match the stone Omicron and Gamma), proclaimed him a member of our brother frat.

I was expecting the same old first question, but he surprised me:

“You’re in great shape. Martial arts?”

“Nope; volleyball,” I smiled. “And thank you so much, for not saying basketball.”

“Baseball, myself.” He stuck out his hand. “Steve.”

“Annika.” His grip was firm and friendly. “I love your shirt,” I grinned.

The ice having been broken, we laughed, and chatted, and drank for a bit. At some point, he commented on the show. I admitted that it was fun to watch, and had gone by pretty fast.

“That’s probably ‘cause you were out of it for some of the parts.”

I blushed. “Stop it! I was not.”

“No, no; I saw. You didn’t want to be the center of attention; I could tell. But you went under just the same.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took a sip of my drink.

Then he really surprised me. “My minor’s psych; we covered hypnosis in class last year. I’ve been itching to try it myself, and I think you’d make an excellent subject. You game?”

I giggled nervously. “Date much? That has got to be the weirdest invitation I’ve ever gotten from a guy.” Fortunately, he saw the humor in it too; I decided that I liked the way he laughed.

That made up my mind for me. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll let you try to hypnotize me. Even though I don’t think it’ll work. Got a place in mind?”

We were even again; I’d managed to shock him back. “Now?”

“Yes, now. If we sober up first, I’ll probably change my mind.”

He couldn’t argue with that, so we stood up—both a little wobbly—found our coats, and said some quick goodbyes. We wound up going back to my dorm; he had a double, while I had my own room as part of a suite.

By the time we got there, we’d both gotten a little nervous; so we took turns using the bathroom to calm ourselves down. When he came back, I was sitting on my bed, hugging myself and having second thoughts.

He stood in front of me and gently took my hand. I looked up at him—up at him—and suddenly I started to cry. Never letting go of my hand, he sat next to me on the bed, and guided me into a warm hug. I clung to him and sobbed, not even sure of what I was crying for.

I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it made me feel better. His hand was stroking the back of my neck; it felt warm and strong and soothing. And he smelled good. I realized I wasn’t upset anymore.

Somehow our lips met. He gave me a perfect kiss: manly and firm, but without grinding his mouth into mine. He used his thumbs to wipe away what was left of my tears; and then, cupping my face in his hands, he looked directly into my eyes. “Tell me, Annie. How do you feel?”

Nobody had dared call me Annie in ten years, not since Maddie and I had ‘convinced’ fellow fourth-grader Imelda Sanchez that I didn’t like being referred to as ‘Annie the Amazon.’ Coming from Steve, however, I decided that I liked it: it made me feel, well, younger. “I’m better,” I sighed. “So, um.... Are you gonna try to hypnotize me now?”

He chuckled at the change of subject. “I suppose. Do you still want me to?”

“I suppose.” We both laughed at my echo. We hugged once more, and then he stood up. I appreciated that; even though I knew he was shorter than me, I really liked looking up at him.

“All right then.” He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Are you comfortable where you are, or do you want to switch to the chair?”

I thought for a moment. “I’m good.”

“Okay, then. Uncross your legs and place your hands on your thighs. Start counting backward from one hundred, quietly to yourself. And while you’re doing that, think about the show we saw tonight; the way those people went under so quickly, how happy they were....”

I don’t remember very much, for a while after that; Steve told me later that it was called something like trance amnesia. So I guess I really did go under. And I suppose I must have told him things. But I don’t think he took advantage of my condition; when I woke up, I still had all of my clothes on. I was relaxed, and I felt happy; but most importantly, I finally felt safe.

What a wonderful word. Safe.

This time, he didn’t kiss me; I reached over and pulled him in. And jammed my tongue right into his mouth. And cupped my hands around his hard athletic butt. And brought his hand up to one of my mammoth breasts....

Nothing felt rushed or hurried. But almost before I realized it, we’d both managed to shed our clothes and cuddle together on my bed. Time lost its meaning; he sucked on my nipples and rubbed my back, while I stroked and explored my very first naked cock. And then my very first erect cock.

He shifted his weight, and I tensed up a bit; I thought he was going to thrust straight into me right then. Instead, as if he sensed my anxiety, he worked his way down until his head was between my legs. And then, for the first time in my life, I lay back and enjoyed the wonderful ride, as he ate me all the way to my first orgasm with a lover. My lover.

It hit me that I had started thinking of Steve as my lover. The realization gave me a warm rush of pleasure; after nineteen years of waiting, I was finally ready.

He unwrapped a condom; we both rolled it all the way down. Then I lay back as he drew himself on top of me, and reached up to share a long and playful kiss. It was like he knew I was a virgin; I’d probably told him as much while I was under. For a moment, I wondered what other secrets I might have shared—and then I was lost to new sensations, as a flash of pain gave way to a sudden warm rush of pleasure. His hard cock was exactly the right size for my tight channel; even through the latex, I swear I could feel every bump and fold.

It didn’t take me long to climax for a second time. Or, for that matter, a third.

And then I could feel him pulsing, just as his whole body stiffened. I clutched his ass with both hands; he wasn’t going to pull out, and I didn’t want him to. He thrust himself all the way in, and then I felt the strangest sensation of heat and swelling, further inside me than I’d thought possible. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was fantastic!

After a few moments of catching our breaths, we smiled at each other. And then we laughed; and then we hugged and kissed. At last, I was truly a woman! I’d surrendered my innocence, willingly, to someone who appreciated me and thought I was beautiful. I don’t quite know how or why I was so sure of this fact, but I was absolutely certain about it.

Right around then, Steve whispered something into my ear; he later admitted that he’d given me something he called a trigger. The way he explained it to me, it was like he had a private key to the inside of my mind. I loved that image, and I certainly didn’t mind him having that key.

While I was under again, he obviously planted some more ideas. Because when I came to, I wanted nothing more than for us to get cleaned up real quick, and then tumble back into bed. To fall asleep together, him holding me. Stark naked. And loved.

Like a big little girl.