The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You’re sure your husband won’t be home?” Nervousness tinged Brett Dobson’s voice as he stood at the door of Linda Jacobs’ fancy suburban house.

Linda smirked. “Trust me, he won’t. The load they’ve piled on him at the office, he’s never home till late.” She beckoned, and Brett came inside.

Linda had come up in the world. Only two years ago, she’d been Linda Coleman, a clerical assistant on a dead-end career track. Now she had a fancy two-story house in the ‘burbs, a big, powerful car, and a whole closet full of expensive clothes.

All because of Michael.

Linda remembered the day Cecily Bichak, Michael’s battle-ax of a secretary, had informed her in a gloating voice, “Mr. Jacobs wants you in his office right away, Linda.” The Bitch-Hag’s tone and the predatory glitter in her eyes had told Linda that Ms. Bichak expected Mr. Jacobs to rake her over the coals.

It hadn’t worked out that way.

Yes, Mr. Jacobs started out by saying that he’d called her in because of complaints from some of her co-workers about they way she dressed in the office. But to Linda’s delight, Michael Jacobs had turned out to have a secret: a leg fetish which made him absolutely helpless against her. At that first meeting, she’d reduced him to a groveling come-stained lump who’d forgotten all about ordering her to dress more sedately. In fact, she’d had him begging her to dress even sexier than she already did.

In later encounters, she’d put him deeper and deeper under her sway, helped by things she’d learned on the Web after that first time. She’d used her power over him to get a raise, a promotion, and finally Michael himself in marriage. And since their wedding, she’d kept up the pressure, conditioning him more and more thoroughly.

No one suspected a thing. The one person who might have, the Bitch-Hag herself, wasn’t around anymore. Linda had commanded a mesmerized Michael to get rid of her, and he’d obeyed, forcing Ms. Bichak into early retirement. He had no memory, of course, of the evening she’d spent programming him, her voice planting the whole rationale for Bichak’s departure in his brain while his conscious mind was focused solely on her rhythmically swinging legs. As far as he was concerned, it had all been his own idea.

It was no accident, either, that Michael wasn’t home this evening. She’d pushed him to take on more and more work. That had helped get him a promotion of his own, which meant more money for Linda to spend; it also meant she had the house to herself a lot more. Brett wasn’t the first guy she’d had over, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

Linda seated Brett on the big couch in the living room and went into the kitchen to fix drinks. When she came back, she sat down next to her guest and handed him his glass. “Bottoms up,” she said gaily, tossing down her own drink.

Brett swallowed the contents of his own glass in a single gulp and sat breathing heavily for a few moments. Linda smiled. She’d made his drink a lot stronger than hers. Part of what Linda had learned over the last two years was how much she liked to be in control of things—and for that, you used anything you could to gain an advantage.

“Wow,” he said at last. “That hit the spot.”

“Want another?”

“Sure, I guess,” Brett answered. Linda went back into the kitchen, where the next round already waited. It was all part of the plan. Several drinks later, she was sitting in his lap, her hand fumbling with his tie. His face was flushed and he was breathing raggedly. Linda’s own respiration was faster now, too. Her drinks might have been weaker than Brett’s, but they hadn’t been water—and unlike her husband, Brett had the sort of muscular good looks she found particularly attractive.

Very soon, the two of them were naked and thrusting against each other on the couch. Linda had pinned Brett down, pressing his shoulders into the upholstery as she rode atop him. The couple were oblivious to anything but each other.

Until, suddenly, a loud voice cried out, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Jesus!” Brett exclaimed, pushing the nude Linda off him. It was Jacobs! Her husband!

“Michael!” Linda’s voice was shaky. “What are you doing home?”

“I finished up earlier than I expected,” Michael said in a ragged voice. “The question is, what’re you doing here—you and the beach bum?” A note of bitterness crept in. “Or do I even need to ask?”

“Now Michael,” Linda responded, “I can explain everything. Just . . . not right here, please?” She motioned him to follow her, and he did. She led him into the master bedroom.

“This isn’t the sort of thing you can just wipe away with a hot fuck, Linda,” Michael said. “This especially isn’t that sort of thing.”

Linda said nothing as she went to her closet and rummaged through it, pulling out a set of white pumps with five-inch heels and a rich mink coat. She put the coat and shoes on and turned to face her husband.

“Michael dear,” she cooed, “be reasonable. You know I love you.” Draping one slender arm on the closet door, she extended her right leg and began flexing it, making it sway up and down, up and down. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

Just as Linda had expected, Michael’s eyes began to follow the steady motion of her shapely leg where it protruded from the folds of her fur coat. Up and down . . . up and down . . . up . . . and down. . . .

“But, but,” Michael stammered, trying to concentrate. “I-I-I saw you!”

“What did you see, Michael?”

“I saw,” he gulped, “legs, I mean, swinging, I saw you pumping, up and down, naked on top of, of . . . !“Michael fought for composure. It was a losing battle. “Up and down.”

Linda sat on the king-size bed, crossed her legs and resumed the swinging motion, flexing her left leg as it rested atop her right, pointing her high-heeled foot at her increasingly helpless husband. “That’s right,” she said. “Up and down. You see my leg swinging, up and down, up and down. You like that, don’t you, Michael, honey, my beautiful leg, swinging, up and down.”

“Yes,” Michael husked. “Your beautiful leg, swinging, up and down. Yes.”

Linda looked him over. Yes, Michael’s eyes were following the motion of her leg mechanically.

“You want to get a better look, don’t you, Michael honey?” He nodded. “If you get on your hands and knees in front of me, Michael, you can get a better look. On your hands and knees, Michael.” Michael Jacobs dropped to his hands and knees and continued to stare at his wife’s rhythmically flexing leg.

“That’s it, Michael,” Linda encouraged. “Just concentrate on my leg, swinging, up and down, and on my voice, up and down, and relax.”

Michael obeyed.

“Now, Michael, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I, I saw you with . . . that blond guy,” Michael stammered weakly.

“You didn’t like that, did you, Michael? It made you feel angry, didn’t it?”

“Didn’t like it,” Michael murmured in agreement. “It made me feel . . . angry.”

Linda smiled. “Well, I don’t want you to be angry, Michael. And I know something that’ll help you feel better.” Leaning forward, she ruffled Michael’s hair lightly, then continued, “Do you remember the words I taught you to say, Michael? The words to help you relax?”

“Legs, ankles, high HEELS,” Michael Jacobs chanted. “Legs, ankles, high HEELS.”

“That’s right, Michael dear,” said Linda. “Concentrate on the words, and relax, and let the words wipe away the bad thoughts, and relax, let the words wipe away the bad memories of what you saw, and relax. Say the words, and let them replace the memory of what you saw that made you feel angry, let them replace the angry feeling, and relax, and let them soothe you, let them empty your mind. Keep looking at my legs, and saying the soothing words, and relax, and forget, and relax, and forget, yes.”

“Legs, ankles, high HEELS,” Michael droned, staring at his wife’s shapely, swinging limb. “Legs, ankles, high HEELS. Relax and forget, legs, ankles, high HEELS. Legs, ankles, high HEELS.” He continued like a tape recorder playing an endless loop.

“Now, Michael dear,” Linda instructed him, “kiss my toe, please.” She extended her foot. “Kiss my toe, and feel the pleasure I’ve taught you to feel. Kiss my toe, and come as hard as you can, put everything you have into it, Michael, so that when you’re done you’re completely relaxed, Michael, completely relaxed, and your mind is empty, Michael, waiting for me to give you your next thought.”

Obediently, Michael Jacobs kissed his wife’s expensively-shod foot. At the touch of his lips to her toe, he shuddered and squealed in ecstasy. Then he went completely still, becoming a statue of flesh with a silly smile on its face. The only movement he showed was that of a thin trickle of drool from one side of his mouth.

Linda had a wicked idea.

“Stand up, Michael darling,” she commanded.

“Yes, Linda,” Michael said as he obeyed.

“Now take off all your clothes, Michael,” she continued.

“Yes, Linda,” Michael repeated. He bent down and removed his shoes and socks, then unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, and finally pulled down his pants and underwear and stepped out of them. Then he stood still, waiting.

“Very good, darling,” Linda said, smiling. “Now come back into the living room with me.” Taking his hand, she led him out of the bedroom.

“Holy shit!” Brett said when he saw the two of them. Then: “He’s naked! What the hell . . . ?”

In answer, Linda waved her free hand in front of Michael’s face. He didn’t blink, didn’t react in any way, just kept staring dreamily ahead.

“What’ve you done to him?” Brett was more than a little freaked out.

“Michael and I have a very special relationship,” Linda explained. She told Brett how she’d learned her former boss could be controlled, and finished, “He’s completely harmless to us, Brett dear. Right now, he’s in his own little world.” Turning to Michael, she asked, “What are the words you need to say, Michael darling, the words that make you feel good?”

“Legs, ankles, high HEELS,” came the response. “Legs, ankles, high HEELS. Legs, ankles, high HEELS.”

“He’ll go on like that forever, until I snap him out of it or give him something else to do,” said Linda smugly. “And I’ll fix it so when he wakes up, he won’t remember a thing.”

Brett whistled. Then he asked, “But why bring him in here? You could’ve just parked him somewhere.”

“I had the most scrumptious idea,” Linda cooed. “Why don’t you and I pick up where we left off?”

“What, with him standing there like that?” Despite himself, Brad was turned on by the idea. Watching him, Linda knew.

“Sure,” she said. “In fact, let’s juice things up a little.” She turned back to her spellbound spouse.

“Michael,” she said, “Brett and I are going to have hot sex, right here in front of you.”

Michael whimpered. He blinked his eyes rapidly, as if trying to fight free of his trance. Linda didn’t let him.

“Say the words, Michael,” she ordered. “Say the words, and let them take away the bad thoughts, the bad feelings. Say the words, Michael dearest.”

“Legs, ankles, high HEELS,” said Michael. “Legs, ankles, high HEELS.” He relaxed into the rhythm of the words. “Legs, ankles, high HEELS. Legs, ankles, high HEELS.”

“Now Michael,” Linda continued, “you’re going to watch us. It’s not going to upset you, though, Michael dear, because as you watch, you will imagine you are Brett, doing everything he does, seeing everything he sees, feeling everything he feels. You will make it real in your mind. You will be Brett. Do you understand me, Michael, honey?”

“Yes, Linda,” Michael said. “Legs, ankles, high HEELS. I will watch . . .

you and Brett having sex. I will . . . imagine I am Brett. Doing everything he does. Seeing everything he sees. Feeling everything he feels. I will be Brett.”

“And when Brett comes in me, you will come too, hard enough to drive all other thoughts from your mind. Do you understand this, Michael, and will you obey?”

“Yes, Linda,” Michael answered meekly. “I understand and . . . I will obey.”

“Afterward,” Linda finished, “you will stand and wait for me to tell you what to do next.”

“Yes, Linda. Afterward, I will stand and . . . wait for you to tell me . . . what to do next.”

“Wow,” Brett said. “He’s really under, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.” Giggling, Linda wriggled over to the couch and threw herself onto Brett, pressing her lips to his and grinding against him. He’d gotten mostly dressed, in case he had to make a dash for the door; for all he knew, after all, Jacobs could come back with a gun in his hand. With Linda’s help, it didn’t take long for him to get naked again. He forgot about Michael; there was only Linda, her beautiful body and passionate caresses.

Michael Jacobs watched as his wife writhed against her boy-toy. Inside his mind, she was writhing against him instead. His breathing grew harsh, and he quickly became rigidly erect. Small moans began escaping him. Fireworks blazed before his eyes as his body shuddered in mounting ecstasy.

Finally, Brett screamed in release. His back arched as he hammered into Linda, then fell back limply onto the couch cushions. Michael screamed as well, and spurted into the air in front of him, his semen falling to the carpet. Linda made it three, reaching her own orgasm just as her pretty-boy paramour and her hypnotized husband did. She slumped on top of the smiling Brett and lay still, basking in the afterglow.

At last she roused herself, looking at Michael. Just as she’d commanded, he was standing there, waiting. His lips were moving, and Linda could make out a whisper: “Legs, ankles, high HEELS . . . legs, ankles, high HEELS . . . legs, ankles, high HEELS.”

Climbing off Brett, Linda put her fur and pumps back on. She moved across and sat down in one of the big chairs which flanked the couch. Crossing her legs, she began gently swinging the top one—the right, this time. Michael’s eyes had followed her across the room, and now locked onto her legs again, tracking the motion as she’d conditioned him to do.

“Watch my legs, Michael,” she said. “Yes, that’s right. Watch my legs, and listen to me.”

“Watch.” Michael’s voice was a monotone. “Listen.”

“That’s right, Michael,” Linda continued. “Watch, and listen. Come over to me, Michael, and watch, and listen.”

Michael sleepwalked over to stand in front of Linda. “Now kneel, Michael,” she directed. Michael knelt. “Kneel, and watch my legs, and listen to my voice.”

Linda leaned over and stroked his hair. “In a little while, Michael, I’m going to say the words, ‘Good boy, Michael.’ When you hear me say those words, you will go and get ready for bed. You will get into bed, and fall into a deep sleep. You will sleep all night, dreaming of sex with me. Do you understand this, Michael?”

“Yes, Linda,” Michael sighed. He repeated her instructions.

“When you wake up in the morning, you will be refreshed and alert. You will not remember what happened here tonight. You will remember that you came home and that we went to bed and made love passionately until you fell asleep, tired and relaxed and happy. You will still feel relaxed and happy, and grateful that you have me, a beautiful wife whom you trust absolutely.”

“Yes, Linda,” murmured Michael. “When I wake up in the morning . . . I will be . . . refreshed and alert. I will not remember . . . what happened here tonight. I will remember that I . . . came home and we . . . made passionate love until I . . . fell asleep. Tired and relaxed and . . . happy. I will still feel relaxed and happy when I wake up . . . and grateful I have you . . . a beautiful wife whom I . . . trust absolutely.”

Oh, God, the POWER! With a shrill squeal, Linda orgasmed again, driven to ecstasy by the knowledge of her total control over the mindless male on his knees before her. Panting, she slumped forward for a minute or two, until the fireworks died away in her body and mind.

She wiped her sweat-soaked forehead, brushing aside tangled bangs, and addressed Michael once more. “Michael, how do you feel?”

“Wonderful,” the kneeling man sighed, a dreamy smile on his lips, his eyes moving in rhythm with Linda’s leg.

“You want to do whatever I say, don’t you, Michael honey, and believe whatever I tell you? Even when you’re awake and alert and not wonderfully relaxed the way you are now, you want to do whatever I say and believe whatever I tell you, don’t you. Michael darling?”

“Yes, Linda,” Michael whispered. “I want to . . . do whatever you say and . . . believe whatever you tell me. Yes, Linda.”

“Good boy, Michael,” Linda said, getting to her feet.

Obeying Linda’s suggestions, Michael stood up as well. Glassy-eyed, oblivious, he walked mechanically back through the house into the bedroom, where he selected a pair of pajamas and climbed into them.

A gleeful Linda watched as Michael put the PJs on and climbed into bed. No sooner had he gotten under the covers and rested his head on the pillows than his eyes closed. In seconds, he was breathing the deep, regular breaths of a man fast asleep.

Her party was complete. All that remained was to clean up after herself.

“Now that’s just weird,” Brett said from behind her.

“Don’t let it bother you, Brett baby,” Linda said, turning to face him. “You won’t remember it anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brett asked, irritation in his tone.

In response, Linda held up her arms, wrists together as if handcuffed. “Remember the Christmas party last year, Brett? Remember the bracelets I showed you?” She smiled. “The magic bracelets. Handcuffs of the mind.”

Brett froze, then relaxed, letting his hands dangle limply at the ends of raised forearms. His face went slack as he repeated, “Magic bracelets . . . handcuffs of the mind.”

Linda inspected him. Yes, he was under; his trigger phrase had shut down his mind just as it always did.

Michael hadn’t come to the Christmas party last year. So he hadn’t seen how a half-drunk Linda had ambushed an equally inebriated Brett Dobson and, using the skills she’d learned on the Internet, hypnotized him. She’d gotten him alone and used the expensive pair of diamond bracelets she’d been wearing—an early holiday gift from Michael—as a focus to put him into trance. It had been surprisingly easy; his resistance must have been weakened by the booze in his system. He’d slid under, deeply under, in no time.

With dozens of people just a room or two away, she hadn’t dared use him for sex then—but she’d played with him a little and set him up for later. Holding her braceleted wrists together as if manacled, she’d held them up under Brett’s glazed eyes and said, “These bracelets are magic, handcuffs of the mind. Soon I’ll wake you up, Brett, and when I do, you won’t remember what happened in this room; in fact, when we leave this room, you will forget we were ever here. Do you understand, Brett?”

“Understand,” Brett had said. “Magic bracelets. Handcuffs of the mind. When you wake me up . . . I will forget what happened here. When we leave this room . . . I will forget we were . . . ever here.”

“Very good, Brett,” Linda had said. “But if I ever show you these bracelets again, with my wrists held together like this, or if I ever say the words, ‘Magic bracelets, handcuffs of the mind,’ you will at once relax the way you are now and obey me without thought or question until I awaken you again. Do you understand, Brett, and will you obey? Repeat my instructions if you understand and will obey.”

“I understand, and I will obey,” Brett had responded. As Linda had ordered, he’d repeated her commands.

She’d awakened him then, and they’d rejoined the other Yuletide revelers. True to her programming, he’d immediately forgotten all about their little tryst. Since that night, though, Linda had confirmed on several fun occasions that her “magic bracelets” suggestion had taken hold.

It had certainly worked this time. Brett stood there, arms out and hand dangling in a begging-dog gesture, his mind handcuffed by the powerful compulsion she had placed there.

Propping a forefinger on her cheek, she tilted her head and addressed her toy. “Brett, I want you to do something for me. Will you do as I ask, Brett darling?”

“Yes, Linda,” Brett responded. “I will do . . . as you ask.”

“Then what I want, lover,” Linda directed, “is for you to forget that I hypnotized Michael. Forget what you saw me do, what he did under my command, all of it. Forget that Michael was even here. Forget.”

“Forget you . . . hypnotized your husband. Forget what I . . . saw you do. What I saw . . . him do . . . under your command. Forget that your husband . . . was even here. Forget.”

“Remember only that you came home with me and we had great sex, wonderful sex, and that you want more.”

“Remember only that I . . . came home with you and we had . . . great sex. Wonderful sex. I want more.”

“Very good, Brett.” Linda smiled once more. “It’s time for you to go home now, Brett. When I snap my fingers, you will wake up. You will not remember that I hypnotized you just now, just as you will not remember that Michael was here or that I hypnotized him. Do you understand, Brett, and will you obey my instructions without thought or question?”

“Yes, Linda,” Brett mumbled. “I understand. I will obey your instructions . . . without thought or question.”

“Very well, then. Good night, Brett.” She snapped her fingers, a loud sound amidst the near silence of the Jacobs living room.

Brett yawned and began putting his clothes back on. “You’re really something,” he said after a few minutes as he bent down to tie his shoes.

“You have no idea,” Linda chuckled softly.

Linda accompanied her stud out to the driveway, where she started up Michael’s car and moved it out to the roadside so Brett could get his own vehicle out. Then she drove back in, parking behind her own car as if Brett’s had never been there. In the morning, of course, Michael wouldn’t remember driving up and finding an unfamiliar automobile parked in front of his house, any more than he’d recall what had happened when he’d gone inside.

Brett had been great, and she hadn’t even had to use her hypnotic skills to seduce him—not really, anyway. He’d been strongly attracted to her anyway. The “magic bracelets” had just made it easier to plant ideas in his head, or, as she’d done tonight, eliminate unwanted thoughts. Linda licked her lips, anticipating future hot dates with her blond stallion.

As Brett’s taillights disappeared down the road, Linda turned and, whistling cheerfully, went back inside to tidy up the living room.