The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

September 18

I usually start a new diary on the first day of school. Sorry, I’m a little late. But it is so exciting. Senior Year!!!

I didn’t keep a summer diary, either. My internship wore me out. So here’s a brief update on “What I Did Last Summer.” The internship was a summer position at the University Film Center. I used video and film cameras and got to assist in editing a documentary. And I got to do more work on the computer than the other interns. The old stereotype was working for me again: You know, like I was born good at math?

Of course, there were college guys, although they were sort of the nerdy type, There were some of the winter sports team guys who were taking summer classes. And I kept getting hit on! Oh, yes. I’ve been recording my statistics on the first page of each diary since I started them when I was twelve. I just measured and would you believe it, I’m now a 38. I grew a whole cup size just over the summer. I’m no taller, thank God — I think I topped out at five feet ten 1/2. Weight 121. Waist 27. I have just a little bit of fat in the “pinch test.”

I entered my junior year thinking that my Japanese side would keep me unhappily petite! But now I have a figure more like Aunt Patricia’s. Height-wise and bust wise I guess I take after the haole side of the family.

Guys who didn’t notice me before turn completely around when I pass by them in the hall. Even bratty Barry looks at me “that way” sometimes. He probably thinks I don’t notice, but I know my twin brother too well not to see the difference.

This year I am taking the usual English, Math, History, plus Third Year Spanish and Independent Studies. So by the time September is over I will have already written what amounts to my “Senior Paper,” and I won’t have to take English in my last semester.

I’m writing a Pop Culture article about the 1960s Spy Craze in Hollywood. Would you believe that that old-time singer Dean Martin played a Bond-like super-spy called Matt Helm in four films?

Well, you can read all the results of this in my paper. I have to do my Calculus now,

‘Bye, Diary.

September 20 —

I watched my second Matt Helm spy movie with Dean Martin.

Central beat Xavier tonight. Danny Phelps caught a thirty-yard pass and ran twenty more for a last-minute touchdown. He is so hunky. I love the way his tight football pants cling to him.

Going to watch another movie on my DVD drive. Won’t have time to write this weekend.

See you later, Diary.

September 20 —

Dear Diary: I know what I said about not having time to write, but Our Man Flint was a hoot! It’s like they took every element of the James Bond movies, enlarged it 2x or 3x, and then gave it a wicked little twist. It’s given me a point of view for my report: Parody or Rip-Off:

You know how James Bond always meets the girl and beds her at the final credit? Flint starts the movie with four gorgeous girls living in his apartment, all just absolutely besotted with him, and he picks up Number Five in the course of the film. One of the four girls was even Japanese-American, which was probably pretty daring in the 1960s.

Mostly I just laughed, but there was one scene that — well, it was hot, and I don’t really know why.

Flint’s newest girlfriend starts out as a spy for the bad guys but of course falls for him. When the evil scientists find out, they order her to be made into a “pleasure unit.” This consists in putting her in a skimpy bikini and standing her before this hypnotizing machine. And the actress, Gila Golan — her character was called “Gila,” too — does a good job of making it look like her will is being drained away. There was something about watching her get stripped and hypnotized so her real personality submerges and a desire to serve her organization with her body that just turned me on.

I thought that was strange, and then for some reason I remembered being turned on by one of Barry’s Superman TV shows — you know, that Lois and Clark series with the part-Japanese guy, Dean Cain. I think Barry watched it because it was about the only show with one of us as a leading hero. The few times I watched was because Dean Cain looked good in tights.

So this one episode I kept remembering was one where this beautiful hypnotist’s assistant puts Superman in a trance. That night I wondered what it would be like to hypnotize Superman. That led me to fantasize about ordering him to make love to me, and … well that led to an experience that was still pretty new to me.

Now that I recall it, I’ve just been having a fantasy about putting Superman into the Our Man Flint hypno-machine and turning him into my “pleasure unit.” Mmmm. Nice!

Good night, Diary.

September 21 —

Outlined my report, and started writing it. Also, I think I Aced my calculus test yesterday.

I can’t shake off thinking about this hypnosis thing. That fantasy I had about hypnotizing Superman got really intense. Wow! If the “real thing” feels even better than what I did next, then I wonder why I’ve been waiting?

But for some reason that still makes me feel like it would be a real turn-on to hypnotize someone.

I wonder if that means I’m weird?

Do you think so, Diary?

September 25

A good Saturday. I made progress on my paper, and I went on the internet to see what I could learn about hypnosis. There are a lot of web sites about it, including some on self-hypnosis. So I tried one and applied some of the tests for hypnosis and found that I really was hypnotized. How exciting! But I also found out it has to be handled carefully.

Anyway, I decided to put this hypnosis to a practical test. When I have to recite a poem in speech class, I’m always afraid I’ll forget it, so I don’t take my eyes off the paper. I thought I’d see if self-hypnosis could help me memorize it and have confidence

So I self-hypnotized myself — oops, tautology! — and it worked!

I felt confident enough to put the paper down and deliver the poem — it was about a medieval battle — with drama, expression, and eye contact. At one point I locked eyes with Danny Phelps and felt the confidence, like he couldn’t look away from me as long as I held him with my eyes.

And he couldn’t. Or at least he didn’t. He told me afterwards it was like I actually took him to see the battle and the knights. That’s practically the first time he’s ever started a conversation with me. My heart was really going!

I decided to play helpless, and I said, “I was really so scared! I’ve had such trouble getting self-confidence.”

He said, “Well, you used to be shy when you were reading, but not today. You had what we call on the team ‘killer eyes’ — when your quarterback has that look, you just know he can’t throw a bad pass and all you have to do is reach up and the ball will fall in your arms. You had that look, all of a sudden. What did you do different?”

Well, I didn’t answer him, I mean he would think I’m odd if I told him I used hypnosis. So I chickened out.

What a bummer, Diary.

September 26 — Saturday A.M.

I couldn’t sleep last night after the game. Danny did all right for three halves, but he dropped two passes in a row in the fourth quarter, and we lost by a field goal. Poor guy. Carla, his girlfriend, looked mad at him, like he had done it on purpose to make her look bad. She is such a shallow b*****! I’d make a much better girl friend for him than Carla.

Then I imagined that I was the kind of girlfriend who would do him right. I fantasized that he took me in his arms and said, “Miki, you’re so wonderful and understanding.” And he softly pressed his lips on mine, and then started getting passionate. I softly stroked over the top of my breast and cupped it, imagining it was his touch.

Then it occurred to me that I really could imagine it. I could hypnotize myself. I planned out my fantasy and the instructions I would give myself.

Then I sat in my chair in front of the mirror and got the little necklace chain I used before. Then I remembered what Danny had said about killer eyes, and decided to try a different technique.

I adjusted the lighting so it was comfortable and then looked directly into my eyes in the mirror.

I thought, “Miki, you have killer eyes. They are totally confident, totally able to hypnotize. As I look into them, into their powerful, confident, laser gaze, I know that I will soon fall into trance. I look into these eyes, and I am falling. My eyes grow heavy and I can see myself getting hypnotized, and feel myself getting hypnotized.”

And I could see that. Not only did my eyes get a blank look, but somehow they continued to have the same penetrating power they already had, and everything outside my steady, hypnotic gaze became blurry and dark, My eyes widened and I kept thinking only, “Going under … falling deeper…going under … falling deeper.” Every three repetitions I added, “When I am hypnotized, I will give myself the suggestions I have planned.”

The suggestions included some test and deepening exercises, like the falling pointer visualization. I saw my eyes flutter and roll automatically up into my head and my eyelids slammed shut.

I saw the pointer fall quickly to six — to a little more, almost five. Then I took off my clothes and got into bed.

The bed seemed to spin around me, just as I had “commanded” in my suggestions. I knew that the next order I had crafted for myself was that I would be walking with Danny in a brightly moonlit glade, and I knew there was nobody around for ten miles. The air was comfortable on my skin, and there was the scent of honeysuckle.

The command I had given myself was that I would experience a living dream of a romantic night with Danny in just such a setting. I marveled at how realistic it was, and my heart beat faster as I realized that it would work — that I really had hypnotized myself so deeply that I could believe in the fantasy.

I had given myself the suggestion, “When you are alone in the secret garden with Danny, he will be in love with you, entranced by the vision of your loveliness, and you will know, from deeply in your subconscious, that you are in control and will live your fantasy. You will be able to seduce him, to make him desire you and be helpless to resist taking you in his arms and arousing you, taking you to a rapturous orgasm.”

(I mean, if you’re going to try, why not go for it?!)

So, this is how it played out. I said, “Danny, take your mind off the game. That’s past. Here, in this magic place of enchantment, it’s just you and me, man and woman.”

He smiled his shy smile, and he had this adoring look in his eyes and looked at me. My commands rang in my own head: “Live your fantasy. He will be entranced; you will know that you are in control and make him helpless to resist.”

In my fantasy I said, “Do you remember my ‘killer eyes,’ Danny? Well, look at them now. That’s right, Danny, look deeply into my eyes. They hold you tightly, they draw you in. You look deeply into my eyes, and you are powerless to resist me. You are falling under their power, going deeply under their power. Killer eyes have hypnotic power over you. You are falling deeply, going under; falling deeply, going under…”

And just like that he was totally in my thrall. I felt my inner heat rising as I dreamed this fantasy. My own hands did it to me, but I thought it was his hands, entranced to serve me, stroking their palms against my nipples, circling my aureoles with their thumbs, finding my moist, secret rapture. I almost totally believed it was him, although really it was my finger that penetrated into myself and raised myself to searing liquid heat, and my thumb and finger, not his, that rubbed irresistibly against the rising, sensitive nub that lay just above, and triggered a convulsive, satisfying release.

I remember thinking, “Thank heaven I ordered myself not to make a sound.”

Then I was sound asleep.

I just woke up and felt great: And now, I just realize, I have given myself a post-hypnotic suggested that I would write down my experiences in my diary.

I think I’m going to add a second layer of password to this diary.

Like, Wow, Diary!

January 26, late afternoon

Finished typing the final draft of my report. Homework is over for the weekend and now I have the rest for myself. Part of being in a family with a Japanese mother — study comes before everything. Calculus is so hard — I’d like to wring the neck of whoever started that stereotype that math is easy for us. People don’t know how hard Barry and I both work to get our Dean’s List. But I did all my problems, and I studied my history and copied my notes.

Easy indeed! Six straight hours except for a sandwich Barry fixed for me during a break from his own studies. Mom away, working not only her own shift but an additional four hours overtime. I mean, Dad left good insurance, but Mom never passes up a chance to put away a little extra.

“Never can tell when you might need, ne?” she says, quoting a favorite expression of our grandmother. Sometimes we laughed a little at her typical Japanese-Hawaiian pidgin English, but she always got her point across.

I remember my first year of high school when I complained to my grandmother that my classmates didn’t have to work so hard as me.

“What kind grade they make?”

“They do okay.”

“You doing better, no?”

“Yes, I am. And they think it’s so easy I don’t have to work at it”

“They say so?”

“Yes, they say so. Carrie actually said I was smarter than she was, and I was lucky I didn’t have to work hard. Just because my work is always done on time and I never complain about the work.”

“Ha! That is good. If they not smart enough to know that smart-smart is no good without work-work, then you really smarter where important.”

Oh, Tutu – Grandmother — I miss you. And Dad, too.

Anyway, for the first time I had an opportunity to relax and think over last night. That was, well, it was wow, but there was something missing. I guess self-hypnosis has its limits. It’s like you can’t really tickle yourself, because you know exactly what’s coming.

It’s not so much that I want to actually make love to Danny — well, I would — but what I really want to do is hypnotize him. I mean, I really do. But can I get the nerve?

Well — maybe I can.

Wish me luck, Diary!

September 26 — a few minutes later.

So after I wrote the above I went to the mirror and now all I had to do was say to myself “Killer eyes,” and I was drawn into my hypnotic gaze.

I wanted to know why my fantasy last night took the direction it did, and then I remembered the exact phrasing of my suggestion, not just as I pre-planned it, but as I actually thought it, and I realize that subconsciously I emphasized entranced, helpless to resist, and in control, words that I realize pretty much summed up what I thought being a hypnotist meant.

So I guess my secret fantasy is to be a hypnotist. This gave me a dilemma, because a) in the real world the subject has to agree to be hypnotized — actually agree — and b) if I tried and failed to hypnotize Danny, I would feel humiliated and lose all confidence.

I gave myself an order that I would go to the keyboard and start to write my diary and then when I put the question to myself my subconscious would write the best solution.

So here goes, first problem first:

How do I get the confidence to know I am ready and able to hypnotize Danny?

—PRACTICE ON BARRY FIRST.—

I open my eyes and look at the screen, and I feel like I’m blushing hot all over. And a little mad. That’s just the same problem, transferred one step nearer home.

But at least if I fail only my twin brother thinks I’m a geek. And he already does, anyway.

So nothing ventured ….

I need to make a plan,

Wish me luck, Diary.