The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The absolute hottest, most erotic events of my life came about because of a children’s game at a company picnic. Strange, isn’t it? It would seem even stranger if you knew me. Within my social circle I’m considered nice, quiet, a little dull but reliable. Certainly the last guy anyone would suspect of getting mixed up in hypnotic domination scenarios ... but in a nutshell that’s what happened.

A little background might help you to understand better. I’ve always been very good with numbers and organization, even as a child, so it didn’t surprise anyone when I picked Accounting as my college major. I’m also quiet and a bit bland by nature; I remember when Linda agreed to marry me, her friends gave her some good-natured ribbing about marrying a walking Ken doll. It didn’t bother me much, mostly because I was busy passing my CPA exams and gaining experience in a small independent firm. The firm ultimately dissolved in a dispute between the partners, but the experience made it fairly easy to find a new job.

I started working in a regional office of a major insurance company about 3 years ago. One of the things that attracted me to this company is their commitment to helping the community. We sponsor a number of charity-related events during the year, but the most popular one with the staff is the annual summer picnic.

For the most part our picnic is like any other corporate get-together. Employees and their spouses are invited, food and refreshments are provided by the company, and there are various sports and games for entertainment. What gives our picnics a unique twist is that employees are actively encouraged to participate in the activities and to bet on the outcome. Each event has a pool associated with it, much like a regular office football pool. Whoever wins the pool gets half the money and names the charity to receive the other half. Since no insurance company wants to be seen as promoting physical injury, so we don’t do contact sports. Instead the events tend to be things like singles and doubles tennis, volleyball, 3-legged races, variations on carnival booths, and simple children’s games like Simon Sez.

My first year I volunteered for softball, since that and golf are the only sports I’m reasonably good at. It was great fun, but Frank broke his ankle trying to do a bent-leg slide into second base and Sally got pretty bruised up trying to beat a tag at the plate. That convinced the company to reclassify softball as a contact sport.

Last year I didn’t know what to sign up for, so I went the route of all the undecided and drew a slip of paper from a basket. At the time I was amused to have drawn “Simon Sez.” I’m a little too gangly for tennis and not quite fast enough for volleyball, so it seemed safe. My friend Marlene, who works in HR and coordinates these events, said it would be fun.

And it probably was for most of the onlookers. A huge crowd of them watched, probably for the kick of seeing their bosses and coworkers taking orders instead of giving them. The contestants were assembled in a group, and then a tiny little guy in a white warmup suit took the improvised stage before us and started barking out commands. This guy was an evil genius. He’d say “move right” while moving left, preface a commands with “Someone says” instead of “Simon says”, use common, body language to invoke an incorrect response—any way he could trick somebody, he’d try it. I was way out of my league and it showed; I set a new record for the quickest elimination which will probably stand for a generation. It was several weeks before I could walk around the office and not hear about my pathetic performance.

The whole affair left such a bad taste in my mouth that I was determined not to repeat it, so I went to see Marlene as soon as the picnic date was published. Marlene is an old friend of mine and Linda’s; in fact, I met Marlene first. We dated casually for a few weeks back in college. We became very fond of each other, but our styles were too different to sustain a satisfying relationship. Marlene was (and still is) a firebrand, a daring and playful lady with a natural talent for mischief and I was, well, pretty much the opposite. When it seemed like we had reached the end of our road, Marlene cleverly engineered a date between me and her roommate Linda. From that first date everything just seemed to work for us. We stayed together through college, lived together for a couple of years while I was getting my start, and were married seven years ago with Marlene at our side. She is still best friend to both of us.

She was keying something into her computer when I walked into her office, memo in hand. She shoved the keyboard aside and turned to greet me. “I’ll bet I know what you want, Michael.”

“I’ll bet you do, too. Can you sign me up for volleyball?”

“Are you sure?” she asked, “That’s not really your speed.”

“Neither is Simon Sez, in case you didn’t notice.”

Her eyes twinkled at the reference. “You’re not still mad about that, are you?”

“Not mad, no ... but why risk further damage to my fragile male ego?”

“Because I had you pencilled in for Simon Sez already and most of the other events are filled up?”

“How can they be filled up? The notice just came out this morning!” I showed her the paper memo in my hand bearing that day’s date.

Marlene looked up to see where I was pointing. “Oh, that. It’s a typo—the memo actually went out last Monday while you were in Seattle. I guess you didn’t see it when you got back, huh?”

I groaned loudly and painfully.

“Let me see what’s still open.” Pursing her lips in mock sympathy, Marlene started flipping through a spiral notebook. After a few moments she had a proposition for me. Her eyes locked onto mine with a familiar, playful expression that she always uses when she is up to something. The first time I saw that look, we had been dating about 2 weeks. I was trying to show her that I could loosen up and be fun, so we were in this redneck bar and pool hall on the outside of town. Marlene and I were probably the only people in the place with high school diplomas; the rest of the patrons were rough-looking men in dirty denims, power drinkers and similar types. We’d had a beer or two and I mentioned that I played some pool as a teen. She gave me that now-familiar impish look, then she walked up to the biggest, meanest-looking guy in the place and bet him $100 that I could beat him at nine-ball. While the tough guy was lining up his first shot, Marlene commented on how hot it was inside and slipped off her jacket, revealing a lacy see-through top that concealed almost nothing. His eye kept wandering from his shot to her chest and he scratched in no time. I still don’t know how we got out of there unharmed.

“Tell you what,” she offered, bring me back to the present. “Jay Vogel is looking to get out of the water balloon toss. If you want, you can have that spot. But I’d like to offer you an incentive to stay with Simon Sez.”

“I don’t know, Marlene. It would have to be one hell of an incentive.”

“How about dinner for three?” She mentioned the name of a very well-known, very expensive, premium steak house. “If you don’t win, it’s my treat. There’s only one catch—you have to let me coach you.”

I was impressed. If Marlene was willing to risk a 3-digit dinner check, I reasoned, she must be very sure about the probable outcome. I thought about it for far less time than I should have.

“Okay, you’re on. You must fancy yourself one helluva coach.”

Marlene beamed. “You don’t know the half of it yet. Why don’t you come back here this afternoon after the budget meeting and we’ll start your training?”