The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The dream is always the same. Occasionally small details change, the sky is raining, I am wearing a sweater instead of a blouse, but the theme remains constant. It recurs at the most unlikely times, hitting me with an intensity so savage that I am often left in a waking dream, wondering whether or not it actually happened. It begins in a small private medical office . . . I had an appointment for a routine physical. The doctor was a man I had never met. He was tall, athletic, about forty years of age. In another setting I might have found him attractive. I have a beautify body in great shape and I enjoy the self-confidence that fitness and sex appeal can give. There have been times that I have flirted with a doctor during a physical. On more than one occasion I made him hard, and took great pleasure in his embarrassment. But there was something in this man’s demeanor that was disturbingly cool, disciplined, almost arrogant. This was not a man that I would dare to tease.

Initially, his examination was completely appropriate, boringly clinical. But gradually he began to touch me in ways that were unnecessary; the back of his hand brushing against my breast while he looked at my throat, a fingertip making perfect contact with my nipple while he listened to my heart. Assuming the contact was accidental, the first and second times I brushed his hand away, taking pains to appear casual. But the touching continued, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that it was not unintentional.

I pushed his hands away deliberately and said, “Doctor, excuse me but this doesn’t seem very professional.”

At that point all pretense disappeared. He slipped one arm around my back so I couldn’t pull away and with the other hand he cupped my breast and began to slowly massage it. I was so shocked, so overpowered, that for several seconds I allowed him to molest me. His thumb and forefinger caught my nipple and rolled it into hardness. Finally, I found myself and began fighting him off. Please understand, I am not a weak willed or submissive woman. Born and raised in New York City, educated at Georgetown, employed in finance, they don’t come much tougher than me. But the situation simply overwhelmed me.

I shouted at him, “I’ll have your license for this! I’m talking to the medical board right after I go to the police.”

I twisted and ducked and somehow managed to pull free.

Pausing briefly to straighten my clothes, I said “Kiss your career goodbye,” and turned to go out the door.

I didn’t make it two steps when he was behind me, a strong arm crossing my breasts, pinning my arms to my side. With his free hand he pressed a black breath mask over my face, of the type used for anesthesia. I cried out but the mask muffled my shout. I recognized the sweet smell of nitrous oxide from times I had used it in a dentist’s chair. With all of my exertion, I was breathing heavily. In two breaths, the strength went out of my arms. In seconds, the fight had melted out of me.

Nitrous is not merely an anesthetic, it is a powerful hypnotic. My whole body became softly compliant and suggestible. The doctor walked me back to the examination table and sat me down. I found myself helping him as he opened my dress, lifting up my hips so that he could pull off my panties. He touched me everywhere, and in my intoxicated state, my body was completely responsive. I felt my nipples stiffen and my pubis moisten under his fingers. But as I breathed the fresh air my mind began to clear. It was a strange experience of gradually coming into awareness, feeling at once a combination of delicious pleasure, intense shame at the way my body had betrayed me, and muffled rage.

He had spread my thighs apart and was slowly lowering his mouth. I tried to push him away, but my arms were still too weak, and my body still too confused. When his tongue made contact with my clitoris, my hips began to roll involuntarily. I think he enjoyed my squirming, as long as I was weak and helpless. But when my strength started to return, he pushed my arms aside, and the black mask again went over my face. I tried to hold my breath, even to pretend that I was under, but he knew his stuff. I was certain he had done this before. Finally, I had to breathe, and with my first deep breath I felt my resistance escape from me like air from a razor slit tire. My arms dropped limply to my side, and he began to play with me. Again and again he let me come up, only to push me back under. Then one time he kept the mask on, breath after breath, until I fell into blissful darkness.

When I came to, I was completely nude, floating on the table. I never felt so free, so erotically charged. The doctor smiled at me.

“There you are,” he said. “I have a special present for you.”

He pulled open a drawer. At a glance I could see it held anything but medical instruments. I recognized handcuffs, clothes pins, and sex devices including a polished steel dildo. He took out a heavy golden chain. It separated into three branches, each ending with a spring clamp. He cupped my left breast, teasing the nipple into erection. A sudden pain, as sharp as a lover biting your ass, and a golden clamp gripped my nipple. The pain radiated, deep into my breast and then lower, all the way to my spine, then somehow turned into pleasure. When he touched my other breast, the nipple was already hard. The second clamp bit into me, and with it an electric current started to go through my breasts. They felt hot and swollen in his hands. Finally, he pulled my thighs apart. Even in my fogged mind, I knew what would happen next. He placed third clamp on my clit, which was already stiff and wet. The circuit complete, I balanced on the exquisite edge of a massive orgasm. Studying my eyes, he held the juncture of the chain in his strong right hand and gently tugged. My mind was starting to clear, I was beginning to struggle, but that only made it worse, much worse, when my first orgasm crashed through me in wave after wave. The helplessness, the humiliation I felt, not that I had cum, but that I had cum with this man, that he had made me cum this way.

I knew I had a single chance. I had to ignore whatever he did to me and pretend to be high, acquiesce to anything, and buy time until my mind thoroughly cleared and my strength returned. Perhaps he guessed my strategy, he took his time in enjoying himself. He touched me, probed me, everywhere, first with his hands, then with the steel vibrator. I felt my body move under his hands, responding involuntarily. It was as if I had split into two women, one detached and calculated, the other lost to sexual release.

And then the moment was there! He turned his back, took a step away, and another step. I rolled off the table, the triple chain still hanging from my breasts and clit, and scrambled out of the office, crying for help. The receptionist, a tall, strong blonde woman, stood up, a look of alarm on her face. She took me in her arms and held me as I rushed away from him.

The words poured out of me, “This man is a rapist! Call the police! Help me, please help me.”

She smiled as she held me, comforting and supportive. I cried in her arms, and kept begging her to call the police, but she only nodded and in a low reassuring voice told me that everything was all right, everything was all right. My relief began to turn into panic. I struggled to get free from her, but she was strong and held my wrists firmly. Even so, I would have pulled away, but suddenly the doctor was behind me and the mask was again being pressed over my face. With my first breath I was weak, with my second I was helpless, with my third I was their slave.

Each taking an arm, they guided me back to the examination room.

I next remember floating once again above the table. When I opened my eyes, the doctor was seated in his desk chair, fully clothed, his feet up. I turned my head to the other side and saw that his receptionist had stripped down to a lacy bra and a pair of French-style panties. She was tall and large breasted, not heavy, just strong and dominant. She lowered her face to kiss me. I had never kissed a woman before, not sexually, had never even considered it. Some inhibition within me was so strong that although I was higher than a kite on a hypnotic drug, completely under her influence, I tried to turn my head away. She buried her fingers in the hair on the back of my head and twisted my face up to hers, my mouth partially open. For a breathless moment, I felt like an offering.

I had always thought that a woman’s touch would be more gentle than a man’s. It was not. It was simply more knowing. She did not merely kiss me, she took my mouth, and then went on to my neck, my shoulders, my breasts. She traced a fine line with her tongue where the underside of my breast intersected my ribcage. She massaged my breasts, and squeezed them together with an intensity that was on the borderline of pleasure and pain. And then she began to kiss and lick and suck on my nipples, rolling then with her tongue, biting them with her back teeth, until they were stiff as taffy. All the while, I floated in a cloud of hypnotic gas.

With the lightest touch of her fingertip, my thighs fell apart. She slipped a full breast out of her bra and pressed it into me. A rigid nipple ground into my clitoris. She kissed my inner thighs, and then worked her way inward. In the fresh air, my mind was starting to clear, but what I gained in clarity I quickly lost to a mouth that was all too talented. She worked on my clit exactly the way I love it, her tongue rough and hard. Her fingers probed me, first one, then two. Completely beyond control, my hips lifted off the table, grinding my pubis into her mouth and at that exact moment she forced another finger into me, all the way up my ass, and I came again and again and again.

When I came around she had mounted the table. She pulled her panties aside and straddled my face. By then, the gas had virtually worn off, but I was so devastated by that series of orgasms that I might as well have been drugged or hypnotized. She lowered her pubis onto my mouth . I tried to turn away, but she grabbed my hair and held me with a strength I could not resist. I took a single experimental lick, and the deep rolling response in her excited me almost as much as what she had done to me. In seconds, I was taking long strokes along the cleft of her cunt to her hardened clit. I thrilled in the way she writhed above me. Then she began directing me lower, and lower. I couldn’t do that, but I couldn’t refuse. I began teasing her ass with my tongue and her whole body went stiff and convulsed as an orgasm ripped through her. Suddenly, the doctor was beside me again, with the same black breath mask in his hand. This time there was no struggle. I inhaled deeply until I blacked out.

I came to in a now familiar state of floating compliance. The receptionist had left the room, and I knew that now the doctor was going to take me. He had stripped naked, and approached the head of the table with a cock as intimidating as a lead club. He stroked me with it, my face, my hair, over my mouth and finally in my mouth, deep in my mouth, back into the throat. With the gas, I lost my reflexive fear, and his weapon slid down my throat without resistance.

I came out of my trance in levels, like a diver decompressing from the depths. At the level of first clarity, I looked him square in his eyes, incapable of resisting him, but determined to prove that I was not conquered. He knew the significance of that gaze, and met my eyes with a look of ruthless arrogance. He lovingly caressed my right breast, and then with utter surprise he slapped me across it. The shock went all the way to the base of my spine. He lifted my limp arms above my head, pulling my breasts taught over my ribcage, completely exposed. He began to slap me across my breasts, again and again, first left, then right. Sometimes his stroke was light, other times stinging, I could never predict. My breasts became red and swollen, my nipples ached, and the burn on my chest became matched by another fire in my pussy. My body began to writhe. I could not deny it to myself, or conceal it from his knowing gaze. In a few more strokes, I was going to cum.

And then he stopped. Slowly, deliberately, he climbed up on the table to top me. I had decompressed another level, perhaps another two, and some strength had returned to my legs, but not enough to resist this man. He pressed my calves under his shoulder, and bent me double like a safety pin. I was wet, completely open to him. He rested his cock in the valley of my cunt, just deep enough to pick up the moisture, and then slowly stroked me, again and again, from the tip of my clitoris to the cleavage of my ass. All the while my mind was clearing, all the while my strength was returning. I’m sure he sensed it happening, I’m sure he knew exactly what he was doing, and he could have with an easy hand reached for the mask again and taken away all choice. Instead, he chose to fuck me, as if he could fuck away my will, as if by fucking me he could take my very soul. It was a final surrender that I would never give him. Our sex became a battle, a brutal test of passion and power, an athletic contest as much as a fuck.

The decompression was over. I was fully aware, fully alive. I began to fight him verbally.

“Its over, you know. Its all over for you. I’m going to tell the police, I’m going to tell the medical board and I’m going to tell the papers. And if you beat it court, then I’m going to write it on the wall. However it turns out, its over, you are ruined.”

It was on rails now. I felt his orgasm building irresistibly in him. My body was fevered, riding the razor edge, but still under my will. The battle was almost over and I would emerge unconquered. And then it broke. He pulled out of me completely, and with the easy grace of a master, he guided his cock between the cheeks of my ass. I froze, suddenly and completely paralyzed. He looked into my eyes with total self-confidence, the raging pressure within him held back for critical seconds.

He said, “You’re not going to the police. Are you?”

And a Voice from deep within, a Voice that I didn’t recognize said, “No.”

“And you’re not going to tell anybody. Are you?”

“No.”

“Because you want me to fuck you. Don’t you.”

The Voice hesitated only a fraction of a second, “Yes.”

“And from now on, you’re going to let me fuck you anytime I want, any place I want, any way I want.”

And the Voice said, “Yes.”

And with one slow deliberate stroke, he took me all the way up my ass.

The dream is always the same. Occasionally small details change, the sky is raining, I am wearing a sweater instead of a blouse, but the theme remains constant. It recurs at the most unlikely times, hitting me with an intensity so savage that I am often left in a waking dream, wondering whether or not it actually happened. It begins in a small private medical office . . .