The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Professional Help” – Part 3

(written by pshadme – October 2004)

Paul gave it a few days, until the weekend had come and gone, to garner up enough courage to go see Professor Right. Being a smart guy, he discovered that it was his masturbation that was putting him to sleep. Just touching himself made him feel tired, but full-on stroking knocked him out and between the lack of sticky residue when he woke coupled with the increasing size of his balls, Paul surmised that he was NOT cumming, either. He feared that not being able to cum was not just a cruel joke, but could ultimately be unhealthy, so that bolstered his willingness to share his delicate situation with someone, a woman, no less.

Monday morning, Paul called the college to ask when Professor Right’s office hours were and he scheduled an appointment through the Psych department to see her that afternoon. Being too pre-occupied to focus on anything but the matter at hand, he skipped his own classes (not good, having just finished Spring recess), and rather, spent most of his morning trying to come up with a way in his head to broach the subject with her. Hell, him just being in her office is going to seem odd to her being that he passed her course a year ago! At 4:30, being as prepared as he could be and confidently hoping that she would be able to help him, Paul walked across the campus towards her building. Every co-ed that had a cigarette in her hands or on her lips was making Paul’s cock swell and throb as he awkwardly walked with his hands in his pockets. Along with having figured out the sleeping problem, he was also quite sure that smoking had something to do with his uncontrollable hard-ons. He reached her office door inside the psych department on the third floor of the D-Building and knocked with his heart in his throat.

“Come in”, came a voice from beyond the door.

Paul entered and saw Professor Right sitting at her desk. She was not an unattractive woman. Maybe in her late 40’s, early 50’s with shoulder length auburn hair (usually done up in a bun). She had a curvy body, not fat, nor a model and was of average height. She wore thin-rimmed glasses over her green eyes and very little make-up. She was always in a business suit, sometimes a skirt, sometimes pants….nothing remarkable…your typical college professor type. Her doctorate hanging on the wall behind her caught Paul’s eye, encouraging him that she should be able to help.

“Good afternoon, young man. How can I help you?", she began as she lifted her head from the papers scattered on her desk.

“Hello, Professor. My name is Paul.", He began as he pushed the lightweight door closed. “I took your class a couple of semesters ago and…", his stammer was cut off.

“Oh yes, hello, Paul, I remember you. What can I do for you, dear?", she offered in a matronly tone.

Paul’s face went flush and he nervously turned his head to make sure the door’s clasp had caught. He swallowed hard and summoned all the courage he could to begin speaking.

“Professor, I seem to have a unique personal problem that I was hoping you could help me sort out.", Paul began in cryptic fashion.

Professor Right adjusted her glasses and looked at Paul with a fair amount of intrigue on her face. “Okay, well, let’s have it and we’ll see what can be done.” Despite the “Dr.” in her title, Professor Right was a personable woman who put a high mark on informality with her students.

Paul wasted little time and with the first breath he drew in after she had stopped speaking, he attempted, “Well professor, I remember you talking in class about the subconscious and the concept of hypnotism and mental influence and I am hoping you can expound on that a little to help remedy or at least explain something that has happened to me.”

Cynthia Right raised an eyebrow and leaned in, propped her elbows on her desk and with her palms cradling her chin, like a child expecting a story, she stated, “Paul, please go on.”

“Well, professor, I recently saw my doctor concerning some trouble I was having sleeping and I was somehow referred to a psychologist. My life, in the short time since then, has been (he paused)….odd”, Paul offered.

“Somehow?” she quizzed.

“That’s just it, professor…", he began, but was cut off.

“Paul, you are no longer my student and this is not even a scholastic issue, please, call me Cynthia.", she offered in an attempt to quell his obvious anxiety.

“Ok, Cynthia, thank you” was his reply with still a hint of respect in his voice, but bordering on embarrassment.

Cynthia smiled and asked Paul to continue. Paul gulped hard and briefly widened his eyes like he was about to divulge some classified military secret or something and could not believe he was going to do it. Paul spoke very candidly and informally and told Cynthia of how he was coaxed into seeing this psychologist by a nurse and NOT his doctor, how both she and the doctor were aware of personal things that he would NEVER disclose without as good of a reason as he had right now and ultimately how he agreed to allow her to use hypnosis to “help” him. He explained that is where he felt she, the professor, could be of assistance in that maybe she had some knowledge or ability to make sense of what was going on with him. He detailed all the suppositions he made about his “condition” based on his actions and responses to things since last week and asked if she would be able to fill in the missing pieces.

“So, you agreed to allow this woman to hypnotize you?", She rhetorically posed, knowing the answer was “yes” and also knowing that this would only allow any suggestions he was given to be rooted that much more strongly. A willing mind is most easily manipulated, she thought to herself.

“Yes, and since I did, I have had these problems of being aroused by women who smoke, which I normally hate, the sleepy feeling when I “ahem” and the sudden urge I get to do said “ahem” without any warning. I am a little nervous and somewhat concerned that among the obvious reasons, it also seems I have not ejaculated since I have seen her. That is not healthy, is it?", Paul spilled out, like he was on truth serum cut with crack.

Cynthia took note of the fear in Paul’s red face and began in a reassuring way to explain that this woman had possibly planted suggestions in his subconscious that, when triggered, compel his willing mind to behave as she had suggested. She was quite confident in her diagnosis after Paul had described Nurse Weston and how she made him feel. Cynthia assumed the nurse and the psychologist were in cahoots.

“Prof…I mean, Cynthia, can you help me?", Paul asked with the meekest voice.

“Well Paul, I can do one of two things to try to understand this better. I can visit with your Dr. Evans or I can jog my memory and test my own hypnosis skills on you. I did study it quite extensively as a graduate student and I think I would be able, especially since it’s so fresh in your mind, to have you recite verbatim, the conversation you had with this doctor.", she posed.

Paul, assuming that any kind of confrontation with Dr. Evans would not bode well for him, agreed to allow Cynthia to assess him while in trance. Being of some intellect, he did correlate his willingness to be hypnotized again with the opportunity for more problems, but was trusting of Cynthia, so he listened as she explained what she was going to do to him.

“Paul, I have only hypnotized about a dozen people in my life, so I will not be able to offer you a variety of induction methods as this wonderful doctor had.” Cynthia began with more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“I will have you lie on the couch over there”, she said, pointing to the corner at a modest loveseat-type couch against the wall. “And I will use the only thing that I had ever used.", at which point, she opened her bottom desk draw to pull out a multi-facetted, blue gem in a silver setting suspended from a thin silver chain.

Paul’s mind immediately flashed to the image of a gypsy in a carnival, but refocused his thoughts, trying to settle and clear his mind as Cynthia has asked him to do.

Cynthia walked over to the couch (revealing today’s choice of suits to include a skirt and some black stockings or pantyhose), pushed a chair next to where Paul was lying, turned on a small lamp behind him and dangled the gem in front of his eyes. Paul, eager to help, reflexively stared at the stone as Cynthia began to speak.

“Paul, I want you to continue staring at the gem, but I want you to notice how it captures and reflects the dim lights and magnifies them.", she began and started to slowly spin the chain between her thumb and index finger.

“Very good, Paul, keep staring as the spinning sends sparkles of light into your eyes. Each flash of light that enters your eyes makes it brighter and brighter in your head. Soon, you feel it getting so bright that you know you must close your eyes to keep more from getting in. Your head is filling with sparkles, bright flashing sparkles like you see coming off of this stone. The more sparkles that get in, the more you feel you need to close your eyes.” Cynthia spoke in a lower voice with each sentence and spun the gem more every time she mentioned the sparkles. She continued this repetition until she saw that Paul was relaxed enough to fall into trance.

“Your eyelids are getting heavier as your brain urges your body to close your eyes. And the heavier they get, the sleepier you will become. So heavy they are, as more sparkles pour in and your brain insists you shut your eyes.” Paul’s eyelids were shuddering and barely open anymore when Cynthia slowly said, “You are going to hear me count from 5 to 1 and when I reach 1, you will have fallen into a relaxed sleep, but completely open to me…able to hear me and able to respond to anything I ask.” Cynthia was unprofessionally feeling a little excited at the power she was wielding over this young man. Paul’s face reflected just how relaxed and in tune to her suggestions he was and she was very happy with herself.

“5, your eyelids are getting exponentially heavier by the second.”

“4, your brain is being overwhelmed with sparkles.”

“3, you feel the only way to relieve your brain is to close your eyes.”

“2, barely able to hold them open anymore as the sparkles fight to get in.”

“1, close your eyes and sleep for me”, she said more sternly than her previous voice and Paul’s eyelids slammed shut. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes relaxed and closed. His body looked limp on her couch and Cynthia, adjusted her suit as she sat there looking at Paul. She was torn between pride in her skills and a bit of excitement over the power she had over her subject. In spite of herself, she shook her head to remember that this was a helpless student whom she had promised to help and immediately dispensed with the birth of any erotic thoughts that entered her mind. Cynthia was a single woman whom, despite her well-maintained attractiveness for a mature woman was rarely with a man and subsequently was hornier than most college professors, although she masked it well. But she focused on the task at hand and commenced with extracting the truth in the form of the conversation between Paul and Dr. Evans.

Cynthia was able to delve deeply into the poor boy’s exploited subconscious and lead Paul into a state of mind where his dialogue with Dr. Evans appeared to him like a story on a pad. He “read” it aloud in a calm, proficient tone; clearly annunciating each word for the professor like an actor doing a read-through at an audition. She listened to every detail and despite her better judgment was feeling wet at the thought of the control Paul was under.

Professor Right took note that Paul exhibited no level of arousal through it all, in part because none of his post-hypnotic suggestions had been triggered. In the more clinical mind of the professor she understood that his trance was allowing his conscious mind to grasp all that his subconscious was taught and she presumed that this new knowledge made Paul more defensive and therefore, less “excitable”. She also knew, however, that this was only the case BECAUSE he was in trance. She was aiding his conscious mind to probe his subconscious and that when he is awake, the reverse would again be the case. Therefore, despite Paul consciously recalling all of this information, his mind and body would still be at the mercy of his subconscious triggers.

After about 25 minutes of speaking, Paul stopped and again, Cynthia shook her head from thoughts of sex from repeatedly looking at his crotch and listening to his tale.

“Was that everything you both spoke about, Paul?", asked the professor.

“Yes”, he replied, “I then left her office.”

“Very good, Paul. You did so very well.", Cynthia offered in a supportive tone. “I am now going to count from 1 to 5. When I reach 5, you will be wide awake and feel relaxed and refreshed and remember everything that you told me.", Cynthia instructed, in preparation for bringing Paul out of trance.

“1, feeling more aware of your surroundings.”

“2, you mind becoming sharper.”

“3, you eyes beginning to open.”

“4, more aware of where you are and able to see me, now”

“5, eyes wide open, mind wide awake and feeling refreshed and relaxed.”

She snapped her fingers in his face and as Paul looked at her with lucid eyeballs, the look of concern and embarrassment appeared on his face knowing now that he and Professor Right knew exactly what his problems entailed.

Paul took a deep breath, slowly shook his head in disbelief and then, “Oh my God, Professor, I mean, Cynthia, uh, I mean….OH MY GOD!", Paul spewed out as his heart raced.

“I hate smoking and I have to be able to cu…uh, “release” and what AM I going to do, professor?!” he almost shouted, reverting to her title as opposed to her name.

“Well, Paul, it does seem like this doctor has you in a bit of a pickle and yes, you DO need to release eventually…but,” Cynthia herself feeling a little embarrassed “she DID leave you a window of opportunity for that and it’s not as bad an option as someone looking to cause you harm could have given.”

Paul, almost defensively shifted his posture in his seat as he assumed what the professor was suggesting and could swear he smelled her arousal in the small office.

“Paul, only YOU know how long you can psychologically go without release. It’s different for every man, but as a medical professional, I will say that physically, you should not go much longer…a week or two more at most. In your condition, stroking without release will cause your body to release what is called “pre-cum”, the slick watery substance that men release when aroused. The male body produces a small amount of this as natural lubricant for each “load” of semen it produces and once it leaks out, the body assumes that ejaculation has either occurred or is inevitable, so it begins to produce more lubricant and hence, more semen. Going weeks without releasing is not that big a deal, but because you are stroking to within moments of release and then stopping, well, passing out, you are constantly “leaking pre-cum”, so your body is continually producing ejaculant. Have you noticed your scrotum getting swollen and heavier?", she asked in the most professional tone she could muster.

“Um, yes, I have.” He sheepishly admitted.

“The doctor probably implanted that command with the suggestion that you would become aware of it eventually, because she wants you to approach only her to get the relief that your body will need, assuming that once you realized it, you would be too embarrassed to try it with anyone else. That way she would be subconsciously controlling your choices and indirectly reinforcing your attachment to her.” She explained. “The body does as the mind dictates, as you are very much aware of now, but to a degree, the mind IS affected by the body and your constant “filling up” WILL make you more hornier and psychologically desperate to release. She is probably counting on your embarrassment and desperation to bring you back to her.”

Knowing that she would not be able to reverse or affect the doctor’s hypnotic commands and being fueled by her swelling libido, Cynthia uncharacteristically offered, “In light of your predicament and if, and I only say IF, you wish to get some relief, I would be willing to help you,” followed quickly and nervously with, “but that is COMPLETELY up to you, Paul.", she said as she straightened her skirt, probably to adjust the pantyhose pressing on her wet mound.

Professor Right’s next appointment, 24 y/o senior, Charlotte Massier, who walked into the psychology department seconds after Paul had closed Cynthia’s door, continued to listen outside the thin door and peek through the space in the door jam from the vacant outer lounge of the office and thought to herself, No, I am sure he will need NO help from YOU, professor., as she giggled a devious giggle to herself and heard Paul politely thank the professor and excuse himself.

Charlotte spritzed her neck with some of the perfume she took out of her purse as she quickly got up from the chair and walked out into the hallway of the D Building just outside the office and casually waited for Paul to exit. Like a covert operative, from the corner of her eye, Charlotte caught Paul inhale and slightly shift his jeans as he walked through the lounge’s sweet wake of perfume and she saw Professor Right quizzically look around at the absence of her next appointment. Charlotte just grinned before she began to follow Paul outside and to his car.

Charlotte walked about 10 yards behind Paul through the crowds on the campus and took out a cigarette as her long blond curls bounced behind her and her heels quickly tapped on the pavement. She arrogantly puffed on her cigarette getting slick between her legs at the idea that something so simple could make a man so weak. She was a born cocktease and information like this was a tease’s dream. Paul got in his car and as he was removing his keys from his pocket, there was a knock on the window. Paul rolled down the window and Charlotte, being near 6 feet tall in her heels, leaned in (exposing an ample portion of her deep cleavage) and smiled. Paul pulled his eyes from her chest to look in her light blue eyes framed in heavy black eyeliner. Her being there did not startle him as much as how beautiful she was and he felt an immediate familiarity with the perfume he smelled. Only a couple of seconds had passed and as he was about to ask her what he could do for her, she pursed her lips and blew a long, soft stream of menthol into his face. His programming kicked in and Paul fumbled his keys allowing her to quickly snatch them off his lap. Feeling she had the upper hand, she inhaled again and blew another big plume of smoke in the disoriented boy’s face. His hand was uncontrollably rubbing the outside of his jeans and she noticed the sleepy look in his eyes. Charlotte opened the driver’s side door, nudged Paul’s tired and turmoiled body over to the passenger seat and after taking yet another deep inhale, she looked at him, slowly blew at least a 5-second stream of sweet smoke in his face and trilled, “You sleep, sweetie, I’ll drive.”

Paul’s hand was down his pants after the third puff and he was quickly losing consciousness to the sound of Charlotte laughing as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“This is going to be fun”, she said to herself, “and I am going to need help.” Charlotte looked at the sleeping boy’s denim-covered erection and reached for her cell phone to call her roommate, Laura.