The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

So, I’m sitting in my oak-panelled office with the impressive bookshelves along one wall and the bird’s eye view of the city out the plate glass window. I’ve got my feet up on the polished desk, hands behind my head. I’m wondering vaguely if I have time to bang my ripe little receptionist again before my next client arrives. At that moment the lady in question jingles the intercom.

“Ron honey,” she purrs, then giggles. “I mean, Dr. Goodstreet. Miss Stunnyr is here like, way early. She wants to see you like, right away. I told her you were way busy and stuff but she says—”

“That’s all right, Jackie. Send the lady in.” Jackie is my receptionist. She’s a doll, so I forgive her for being a little scattered.

It’s not entirely her fault. I got a bit carried away with hypnotic age regression a while back, and now she is convinced she’s a sixteen-year-old high-school sophomore. A very sexy high-school sophomore. Doesn’t make her a terribly efficient receptionist, but I have fun with her—especially on the days when she wears her cheerleading uniform to work. I’m not exactly sure how she rationalizes her apparent age with the fact that she lives in an apartment and works in an office tower, but hey, that’s not my problem.

Vanessa Stunnyr isn’t my problem either. Quite the opposite. Clients like her are the reason I get out of bed in the morning, even on the nights I’m sleeping with the landlord’s daughter. The woman is hot hot hot. I’ve been seeing her for a few months now, and the therapy is going well. Not surprising since there was nothing wrong with her in the first place. She stopped by once, on the recommendation of a friend, looking for relief from a bout of insomnia. I didn’t really do much about that, but I did manage to convince her to come back for more treatments. Pretty persuasive, what?

The door opened and Ms Stunnyr walked in. I tried not to draw in my breath. My god what a babe. Super-model face, sweater-stretching tits, delicious figure, and legs that go on forever. Long, thick hair, recently died brassy blonde. Dressed today in a little travesty of suit, all in white, with white fishnet stockings and black stretch boots. I could hear my own pulse as I looked her over. What a feast for the eyes. I have a major weakness for sexy boots, especially when they are garnishing a shapely pair of female legs. So now of course, Van does too.

You see, long time ago, when I was struggling through classes at the Royal College of Psychiatry in Thailand, the only school on the planet that would let me in, I stumbled upon a very effective hypnotic technique. I was trying to convince a sceptical classmate to let me practice hypnotizing her. Somehow she began responding to suggestions before I had even started the induction. It was like she had momentarily slipped into trance without realizing it.

My theory is, her conscious mind was so convinced I was incompetent, and therefore harmless, that it didn’t bother alerting her defenses. I sort of walked into her subconscious while the guards were sleeping. Over the next few weeks I found I could gradually plant little ideas in her mind, including, eventually, that she liked to go without underwear and she desperately wanted to sleep with me.

I was quick to capitalize on my discovery, let me tell you. I call it hyp-don’t-nosis. It didn’t work on everyone, at least not at first. It sure did work on the Dean of the college though, which is why I managed to get myself a shiny new degree despite some rather dodgy clinical work.

My client base is mostly spoiled housewives that come to my office to massage their petty neuroses. If I can put them under, I make sure they recommend me to their rich friends, so the bills get paid. I practise a lot on Jackie; the age regression thing was sort of an experiment. Some day I’m going to figure out how to bring her back again.

Vanessa is something different. She’s a school teacher, or so she tells me. High school Geography. My god, how I wish they had babes like her in my high school. I might have come to class sometimes.

The first time Van walked into my office I knew I had to keep her coming back. The woman is so hot her heels leave scorch marks on the carpet. Fortunately, Van turned out to be very open to hypdon’tnosis. She started responded to my stealth suggestions on our very first session. Once I had a foothold in her mind, I wasted no time moving in and re-arranging the furniture. Maybe that was why she was looking so bewildered today. A worried frown was a desecration of that beautiful face.

“Vanessa!” I exclaimed, rising to meet her. “Delightful to see you. Please, take a seat here. What’s troubling you my dear?”

“Thanks for seeing me so soon, Ron,” she replied. She minced across the office, looking dead sexy in her high-heeled boots. She sat down in the deep chair. She crossed her knees, and I felt my pulse rise. The white skirt on her suit was extremely brief. “I’m like, really confused,” Van said. Unexpectedly, she giggled.

“Confused?” I asked, playing it straight. “What about? You look splendid, by the way.”

“Oh, uh, like thank you,” she replied. She brushed back a lock of blonde hair. “But Ron, I, I’m like, acting really strange. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Perhaps you had better explain.” I tried not to look like I was talking to her tits. I made a casual gesture across my chest. Vanessa reached up and unbuttoned her suit jacket without realizing she was doing it. Underneath she wore only a thin white blouse.

“Well, you know, I was . . . have been. . . reading those like, stories, the sexy ones, on the Internet?”

“I remember. I think we agreed this was a harmless outlet for your sexuality.”

“Like for sure. I mean, yes. OK. But now I think, those stories are like, affecting me somehow.”

“Excuse me?”

She took a deep breath. I gawked at her boobs. I couldn’t help myself. I was glad I was sitting behind my big desk.

“Well, it’s like, I’ve been reading these stories by this one author. He calls himself Downing Street. They’re dumb, but . . . pretty hot.” She shifted nervously in her seat. Her legs were pure femininity in the white fishnets and slick black boots. I dropped one hand into my lap and fondled my erection for a moment.

“Go on,” I said.

“Well, like, the women in his stories, they always end up being, like, transformed or something. They end up as happy, horny, obedient sexpots without a thought in their heads except looking sexy and showing off and fucking some evil man that controls them. They’re utterly offensive to any thinking woman. Sweartogod, I don’t know why I keep reading them.”

“Valley Girl,” I said.

Vanessa blinked. She didn’t say anything for a moment.

“The stories turn you on,” I said in an even voice.

“Yes. . . . turn me on.” Her voice was soft.

“They arouse you intensely. You want to play with yourself while you read.”

“Mmmmm, yes. . . . play . . . . myself.”

“The stories make you feel relaxed and happy.”

“Relaaaaaxed. . . . . Happy. . . .”

“So then,” I said more briskly, “what exactly is the problem?”

She looked around, blinking. “Uhm,” she said. “Well, I, I don’t even know how to explain this. I love the stories, you know. They relax me after a day at school. And, like, I do find them totally arousing.”

I made a little motion with my fingers, crossing one over the other. At once Vanessa uncrossed her knees and crossed them the other way. The top of one stocking came into view. Again she didn’t seem to notice. I gave my cock another affectionate stroke.

She went on: “Lately, I think the stories have been, like, affecting me. I mean my behaviour. My moods and stuff. <giggle> I feel so giddy after I read one. I get all, I dunno, all warm and gushy inside. It’s like I can’t think straight—or sorta like I don’ even want to. I’m not even sure I like being serious any more. I just wanna be sexy and horny and happy like the girls in the stories! <giggle>“

“So what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong? Well, like, that’s not, that’s not right, is it? I mean, it’s like my brain is turning into bimbo-doll mush. I can’t take anything seriously. I totally can’t stop giggling! The other day I tried to read the paper—I haven’t bothered in like, weeks. I couldn’t get through the front page! That news stuff is like, sooooo boring <giggle>. But I read all the funnies and the fashion section three times.”

“I see,” I said sympathetically. “Let’s think about this, Valley Girl.”

She looked into space.

“You love being an air-headed sexdoll.”

“Mmmmmm . . . . love . . . sexdoll.” Her eyelids drooped.

“Thinking is over-rated. Why bother?”

“Yeah . . . <giggle>“

“You shouldn’t resist these new, liberating urges.”

“. . . shouldn’t resist . . .”

“Thinking just gets in the way of being sexy and hot and horny.”

“Sooooo horny . . .”

I clapped my hands. “Well now,” I said, “this doesn’t strike me as anything to be concerned about. Some positive transfer from the stories. I suspect that they were feeding into a deep vein of sexual desires that you had unwisely suppressed until now.” I was making up the jargon as I went along. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“OK!” she said brightly. She seemed more relaxed now. She was swinging one tight-booted foot back and forth in a manner I found most distracting. I slipped a hand beneath the desk and unzipped my pants. This was dangerous, but I couldn’t resist. The more this gorgeous babe slipped under my control, the hotter she became.

“Is there anything else?” I queried.

She thought about it for a moment. “Wellll, there is one thing . . ..” She began to toy with a lock of blonde hair in a nervous, feminine gesture.

“Yes?” I stroked myself surreptitiously.

“Well, I know it’s like, OK to read those hot stories, and, like, not worry to much ’bout thinking an’ stuff, but like, I’m getting sorta carried away. I mean, I’ve started to dress like the bimbo-babes in the stories. Look, look at what I’m wearin’ today!” She got to her feet, having no trouble finding her balance in what must have been five inch heels. She spread her arms wide.

“I like, never wear pants anymore. I threw them all away! I live in miniskirts an’ hot pants and high heels, an’ stuff. I totally love to dress up and show off. It’s so neat to see men staring at me on the street.”

“Sounds fine to me. What’s the trouble?” Stroke, stroke.

“Well, like, I can’t seem to stop. I wear sexy stuff all the time. Like I totally love wearing sexy gloves. I have dozens!” She waved her hands around to emphasize the pure white, church-lady gloves on her wrists.

“Go on.” My voice was getting thick. I remembered planting the gloves suggestion a few weeks earlier.

She cocked one hip, extending a booted leg. Her mesh stockings shimmered on perfect thighs. “Well, c’mon Ronny, I’m like, a school teacher. I’m like, supposed to be setting an example. But this is how I dress for work!” A string of nervous giggles tumbled from her lips.

“V-valley Girl,” I mumbled.

Her gloved hand slowly drifted to her side.

“You enjoy dressing sexy all the time.”

“<giggle> Yeah. Sexy.”

“You’re a hot-blooded sexpot who has to flaunt her awesome body.”

“. . . have to . . . flaunt . . . mmmmmm, hot . . . ”

“You love dressing like a hot babe to school.”

“ . . . hot babe . . . school?”

“Yes. Show off your body. Tease the other teachers. Give your students hard-ons.”

“Mmmmm, yessss!”

“You especially love to dress up for me.”

“. . . dress up . . . for Ronny . . . yeah.”

I rapped the desktop gently. Vanessa shook her head, blinking.

“There there,” I said kindly. “You’re not really worrying about dressing a little boldly are you?”

She tittered and her boobs bounced. “Course not. S’long as you like it, Ronny.” She gave me a smoky look. My cock twitched beneath my fingers.

“I, I think you look splendid,” I said, sincerely. “Utterly ravishing.” With my free hand I made a gesture like I was brushing something off my shoulders.

Vanessa said: “Really? You don’t think this is a little . . . revealing?” Still fixing me with those smouldering eyes, she peeled off her white suit jacket. The silk blouse beneath was thinner than smoke. The gorgeous globes of her chest were overflowing the white lace half-bra beneath, the nipples half exposed.

“Ga!” I cried before I could stop myself. “I mean . . . no, that’s, that’s fine. Wonderful. Sexy. Very sexy.” My hand was busy. This was reckless. Over the past few weeks I had planted a variety of suggestions, all intended to encourage love of her body and showing off for men. I wondered briefly if I had overdone it.

“I’m sooooo glad you like it, Ronny,” she purred. “I totally trust your opinion.” Another suggestion.

“Is there—is there anything else troubling you?” I needed to calm down before I lost control completely.

It took longer for her to think about it this time. She sucked on one gloved finger daintily. “Well, uhm, like, actually, yeah. There’s like a couple things. I’m like, still a high school teacher, right?” For some reason she was finding that a difficult concept.

“Of course.”

OK, so like, how come I’m like, totally talking like a . . . I don’t know, like a . . .”

“Valley Girl?” I finished for her.

“Yessssss . . .” was all she managed.

“Vanessa, you are an oversexed, air-headed, super-sexy love doll, right?”

“<giggle> ’Course!”

“Well, naturally you’re going to talk like one, aren’t you?”

“Oh . . . yeah <giggle> . . . talk like . . . air-head . . . ”

“And talking like a grown-up means thinking, and thinking is way too hard.”

“. . . .waaaay hard. . . ”

“Besides, men like silly, sexy girls. That turns you on, doesn’t it.”

“. . . silly . . . . sooooo turned on . . . " Her chest heaved as she breathed deeply.

I snapped my fingers. “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the way you talk. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure Ronny!” she replied, smiling. “Hey, wanna see something?”

“What?”

She jumped nimbly onto the side of my desk. Her little skirt slipped up to the tops of her stockings. This new position brought her dangerously close to seeing what I was doing a few feet away. But oh god, those legs!

To make matters worse she crossed her knees casually. “Like my new boots?” she chirped.

“Love them,” I answered honestly. The sexy black boots were a sharp contrast, almost garish, against the white of her miniskirt and mesh stockings.

“So do I!” she enthused. " ’Fact, suddenly I like, totally love boots. I wear them like, every day. Isn’t that totally cool?” She leaned back on both hands, scattering some papers on my desk. She swung her leg out, back and forth, admiring the high-heels. “Funny,” she said casually. “I like can’t live without boots, sweartogod. It’s like a . . . you know . . . a thingy like you just havta do?”

“A compulsion?”

“Yeah. <giggle> Like I can’t help it. I choose a different pair every morning. Sometimes, like I see a sweet pair of boots in a store or whatever and I go inside and I’m like, ’I gotta have those boots!” It’s like I’m addicted to boots—an’ I don’t care <giggle>. They make me feel so . . . alive, and sexy, and everything. An’ you know, it all started . . .oh, like a week ago, you know? Fact, it was jus’ after the last time I came to see you. Isn’t that, like, funny?”

I wished she would stop swinging that leg. Her tiny skirt was showing everything. She didn’t seem to care. I groaned out loud.

“Hey, whatsa matter, Ronny?” Vanessa asked, sitting up. “Are you like, OK?”

“I’m f-fine Van,” I managed. “But, uhm, I think you have to leave early today. I, uh, I, there’s something I have to do.” My hands were still busy.

She got to her booted feet. “Do I havta go already? Are you totally sure you’re all right? What’s goin’ on?”

She took a couple of mincing steps around the desk. Her gaze landed on my pecker, hard and straining in my lap. I was still stroking myself. Her eyes went wide. “R-Ronny!” she cried.

Busted! What could I do? I had been caught red-handed, jerking myself shamelessly right in front of my curvaceous client. “Valley Girl!” I shouted. I desperately hoped she was still malleable. In her shock and outrage she might not go under.

“Ronny! I—I . . .” Her gaze became far away. I waited a moment to be sure she was back in trance.

I let out a sigh of relief. “Vanessa,” I said quickly. “You are very horny right now.”

“Mmmmmm . . . . like totally horny,” she sighed.

“The sight of my cock has turned you on immeasurably.”

“Yessss Ronny. . . turned me on . . . immea. . . immea. . . a whole lot.”

“You want to suck me.”

“Suck . . . you?”

“Yes. You are very horny and you want to suck me off. You need to feel my cock in your mouth. You yearn for the taste of me on your tongue. Nothing else will satisfy you.”

Vanessa blinked. She licked her red lips hungrily. “Oh, Ronny, darling, you poor boy,” she exclaimed. “You’ve got a big stiffy back here. C’mon, let Vanny take care of you.”

She was already dropping to her knees. She shuffled forward until her face was a few inches from my twitching member. Blonde hair tickled my thighs. “Wanna suck you off,” she declared, as her lips descended on my shaft.

I leaned back in my chair as Vanessa’s talented lips went to work. I groaned and closed my eyes. Vanessa was so wonderfully open to suggestions. “Oh yes,” I sighed, as her blonde head bobbed up and down, “that’s so good.”

She slipped her lips off my pecker for a moment, sighing. “Ronny honey,” she whispered, looking up at me adoringly, “did you like, take care of those bills ’n stuff for me?”

“Huh? Wha?” I grunted. This change of subject was unexpected. She was still jacking me slowly with one gloved hand, keeping me stiff. It made it hard to think.

I looked down at her between my legs, a blonde goddess in white suit and black boots. I could see her ample chest heaving beneath the gossamer fabric of her blouse; her legs were folded beneath her, pulling the short skirt up over the top of her fishnet stockings. Her slender boot heels pointed at the wall. “What?” I said again.

She giggled. “Oh, Ronny flower, don’t you remember? You promised to like, make all my bills like go ’way so I don’t ever have t’ worry ’bout them any more.” She paused to run her tongue slowly up the underside of my prick. She kissed the helmet tenderly. I groaned.

“There’s like, the mortgage (kiss, kiss), the ’lectricity (lickity lick), my cell phone (kiss, slurrrrp), an’ like, I kinda maxed out all my credit cards again (kiss suckle, lick, lick).”

Her artful mouth was driving me round the bend. “V-Vanny, what—aaah! I, I, ohmygod that’s nice, what are you -mmmmmm! I don’t remember any—”

Vanessa looked up at me. “Ronny, did you really think you could hypnotize me without me noticing?” she asked innocently. “Silly Boy.”

The world faded away like sunset on a summer evening. I felt myself floating in a pool of happiness centred on the blissful pleasure in my cock. I could hear Vanessa’ sweet voice far in the distance.

I don’t remember anything for the next few minutes.