The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My eyes fluttered open in the hotel bed—hmm, must have drifted off, there. As my vision came into focus, I saw something that snapped me fully awake: a pretty young girl was sitting casually at the end of the bed, wearing a white hotel bathroom and looking at me. I didn’t know her.

“Whoa, hey! Who are you? How’d you get in here?”

She smiled slightly as she replied, “It’s me, honey! It’s Michelle. Don’t you rec-... well, no, you wouldn’t recognize me, would you? I got the body-swap appointment early, they had a cancellation or something, and I was so excited that I flew out here to surprise you.” She frowned. “Don’t you remember?”

I ... did remember. Yeah. I mean, of course I remembered. It had been non-stop news when SwapCo burst onto the scene a year ago, with its announcement that it had perfected body-swapping technology in true mad scientist style: the intellect, memories, emotions, and full personality of any two people could be swapped for up to a week before the effect wore off. SwapCo now ran a lucrative operation where swapees (mostly young and fit) rented out their bodies to swappers (mostly much older), receiving a generous stipend for staying in a secure SwapCo facility for a week while the swapper went out into the world, wearing their body (and carrying a foot-high stack of signed documents guaranteeing dire consequences if the body didn’t come back in mint condition). “Take a vacation from yourself!”

Michelle had been obsessed with the idea since she’d heard about it. She’d never been happy with the weight she’d put on and never been able to shed, since the kids came, and I’d been unable to reassure her about it. She wanted to feel what it would be like to be young and sexy again, she said. At 45, I didn’t think either of us were exactly candidates for the old-folks home, and the cost was quite high, but she’d worn me down, and I’d finally agreed that she could do it. And here she was, a swapper. But ...

“There was something I was supposed to ...” I began.

“Oh! Right. Transparent vermillion rutabagas,” she said.

And there it was. When we’d starting talking seriously about this, Michelle had insisted that we establish a code phrase so I would know for sure that it was her. She’d whispered those three words in my ear when we were alone, and we’d never written them down, never told the kids, never recorded them in any way. The only person who could possibly know that phrase and its meaning was ...

“Michelle!” I cried. “Holy shit, it’s really you! My God, look at you! I don’t think I really believed it was possible, until now.”

Michelle smiled broadly and stood up. “Yes, it’s me.” She opened the bathrobe, let it fall casually to the floor, and stood there in a silky black thong and matching bra. She held her arms over her head and slowly turned a full circle. “So, whaddaya think? Check out the chassis! Did I pick a good model?”

She was, in a word, magnificent. She was in the body of a young (early twenties, I guessed) dark-haired girl. Her face was very pretty, with large eyes, high cheekbones, and a dainty chin, showing some complex mixture of ethnicities that gave her skin a light golden almond hue and her eyes a slight hint of an epicanthic fold. Her black hair cascaded, slightly curled, to her shoulders. Those well-defined shoulders and her toned abs said that this body had seen the inside of the weight room at the gym, and her long, beautifully defined legs might belong to a runner or a swimmer. Her breasts were of moderate size and exquisitely shaped, and her hips and buns were perfectly sculpted.

“You ... I ...” My voice was a bit hoarse, and I had to clear my throat and try again. “Funny you should say ‘model’: you look like one.”

Michelle beamed. “Why, thank you, kind sir! I do my ... I mean, whoever this girl is, she obviously does her best to keep in shape.”

Something that had been nagging at me finally yanked my attention away from the beauty in front of me long enough to throw up a flag. “But wait a minute. I’ve seen this girl before, haven’t I? She was ... Um, you were ... down in the bar, earlier tonight? You talked to me, right?”

She laughed. “Flirted shamelessly with you, you mean!” Michelle saw my expression and continued, “Oh, come on, Bobby, what wife could pass up the chance to run that kind of test? And you passed with flying colors, I might add. I come up to you looking like this, and you’re all, ‘No, miss, I’m flattered but I’m a married man.’ Shot me down cold. It was very sweet.”

“Aw, come on, Michelle, I hope you know by now that you don’t need to test me like that!”

“I know, I know, honey. I was just having a bit of fun. But let me ask you: did you wonder, even for a second, what it might be like to touch this body?” She gazed at me seriously.

“No, of course not!” Michelle raised one eloquent eyebrow, a trick I hadn’t known she could do (did the body somehow know how to do that?). “Well ... all right, maybe for half a second. But you know that it’s ...”

Michelle shushed me. She couldn’t maintain her poker face and broke into a grin that could only be described as “wicked” as she slid onto the bed and crawled toward me, tiger-like. In a low voice, she said, “Well ... now ... you ... can!” The last word was whispered into my ear as I lay there, temporarily paralyzed by the overwhelming physical presence of this lovely young thing. Still whispering, she said urgently into my ear, “Take me, Bobby!”

A few minutes ago, I’d been so tired from a long day of flights and business meetings that I could barely keep awake. But let me tell you, in case you’ve never had this experience: having your wife come to you in the body of a young hottie, and whisper her pet name in your ear (nobody else ever calls me “Bobby”) ... well, it’s better than a triple espresso with a Viagra chaser. I said something that sounded like “Rrrow” and kissed her fiercely. She melted into me, and I marvelled at the sensation of kissing my beloved wife, in the shape of this angelic creature. Ain’t technology grand, I thought dizzily. After a moment, I flipped us around so that she was on her back and I was straddling her.

“If we’re going to take this body for a test drive,” I said, “let’s give it the full treatment.” I reached down and unhooked her bra, and then began kissing my way down her body, down her neck, lingering on those spectacular breasts, down her her tummy, to her waist. Sliding the thong off, I parted her legs and went to work with my tongue, flicking, teasing, opening, tasting, enjoying her moans of pleasure. She reacted differently than usual, and I wondered once more how much influence the swapped body might have. She was louder, for one thing. When I found her nub and began working on it in earnest, she cried out at the top of her lungs, and when, some time later, she came, there was so much yelling and thrashing that you’d have thought we were under attack. She slumped, exhausted, for a moment, then bounced back up and grabbed me, pulling me down so this time I was flat on my back.

“I want to ride you,” she said with a wild grin. The top had never been Michelle’s favorite position, but hell, I wasn’t complaining. She reached over to the bed-stand and grabbed a small packet, and the tearing sound of her opening it confused me for a moment. A condom?

“We haven’t used one of those in a long time,” I pointed out.

“Hey, this is a rental, remember?” Michelle said. “If I give it back pregnant, our grand-children will still be in debtor’s prison.” She unwrapped the thing and gently rolled it down over my straining cock. Without further ceremony, she straddled me and guided me into her, and I gasped at the sensation. She bounced above me, her eyes half closed, crying out with delight. She did things with her inner muscles that I’d never felt before—and wouldn’t have thought Michelle knew how to do. The sight of this goddess riding me brought me quickly to the edge, and I grunted as an intense orgasm washed over me. Michelle made a sound like “Whoo” and pulled herself off me, lying down next to me and drawing my arms around her.

“Wow,” I said. “That was ....”

Michelle reached over and put a finger on my lips. “What do you mean, ‘was’? This is just half-time, mister!”

And she was right. To my disbelief, round two started shortly; we were like a couple of teenagers, insatiable, urgent, inexhaustible. And loud! I kept expecting there to be a pounding at the door: the hotel management, or maybe one of our neighbours, armed with a bucket of ice water. After a respite where I brought Michelle to climax again with my fingers and tongue, she coaxed another erection out of me, and insisted on doggie-style. She was full of surprises, this evening. I came again, and I lost track of her orgasms around the fourth one. Much later, we slumped, finally spent, onto the bed, and drifted off to sleep, snuggled together.

The phone woke me, much too soon after I’d gone to sleep. I blinked blurrily, noting the sound of the shower running and deducing that Michelle must already be up. I fumbled for the receiver and mumbled, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” a very familiar voice chirped. “How’s the trip going?”

It was ... Michelle? It was her voice, unmistakably. But ... “Michelle? Where are you? Did you ... swap back?”

She was puzzled. “I’m at home, silly, where do you think? ‘Swap back’? What are you talking about? Are you feeling all right, Bobby?”

I felt a chill sweep over me. The shower abruptly stopped running. “Uh, no, actually, I’m not feeling well,” I said, and this was perfectly true. I felt sick. “I, uh, think I ate some bad oysters at dinner last night, I was up all night running to the bathroom. In fact, I’ve gotta run there right now, sorry honey ...”

Michelle clucked sympathetically. “Oh, you poor thing! Go, go ahead. Call me later when you can. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I croaked. “Bye.” I hung up the phone.

My head was spinning. Michelle was here in the room, she’d just finished a shower, but that was Michelle on the phone ... I felt like I’d gone mad.

Michelle(?) emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white towel. “What’s up, Bobby? You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Were you on the phone, just now?”

“Yes,” I managed. “It was ... Michelle? What’s going on?” I asked plaintively.

“Michelle” sighed. “Yeah, well, that’ll break the spell, I imagine. You were going to snap out of it, sooner or later ... I was just hoping it’d be a bit later. I had plans for this morning.” She grinned wolfishly.

“But ... how?” I wasn’t at my most articulate.

The girl—I didn’t even know her name, I suddenly realized—dropped the towel and walked casually around the room, naked, gathering up her clothes and getting dressed. “Well, you were right, I did talk to you in the bar last night. That part was true, and so was the part about how you shot me down. I thought you were cute, and my lay-dar was telling me that you’d be fun in the sack—and boy, was I right about that, by the way. I mean, to start by going down on me, unasked? Michelle has you pretty well trained, huh?” I felt my face reddening.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I found your stubbornness intriguing. I don’t usually have any trouble getting a guy to take me to bed. I mean, look at me.” I was looking at her, and yeah, being turned down by men must be a pretty novel experience for her. “So I kept talking to you, and you were so tired that you were practically falling asleep on your stool, and I’m a pretty good amateur hypnotist, so it wasn’t long before I had you in a nice, deep trance. We came up to the room, but you still wouldn’t jump me! Kept mumbling stuff about being married, you couldn’t do that to your wife, blah blah BLAH-blah-blah. But hey, I love a challenge. I thought, ‘When is cheating not cheating?’ When it’s with your wife! So I made up a little story, a science-fiction tale about body swapping, and told you to believe it all the way down to your subconscious. A bit of background info about pet names, and a fake ‘code phrase’ to ‘prove’ that I was your wife, and we were all set. Clever, huh? I’m not just a pretty face and a frankly spectacular ass, you know!”

I’d been listening to all this, and starting to seethe with rage as my head cleared and I began to comprehend what had actually happened. “You ... you little ... bitch! I would never have ... I would never ... I should call the cops!”

Not-Michelle smiled slightly, pulling on a white shirt and buttoning it up. “Oh, yes, wonderful idea. Call them up and tell them, ‘Officer, a 22-year-old hottie with the face of an angel and the thighs of a goddess just seduced me by pretending to be my wife, whom she resembles in no way whatsoever.’ I’m sure they’ll send their best people right over. I’m sure they’ll drop whatever murder investigation they may have going on, just to look into ...”

“All right, all right,” I cut her off. “You’ve made your point.” And she was right, damn her. The police would never believe this. I couldn’t really believe it myself. “But damn it, you tricked me!”

The girl raised an eyebrow at me. “You think so? That’s one theory, certainly. But of course, if we accept that theory, we also have to accept that you are quite possibly the stupidest, most gullible person on the face of the planet. I mean, come on! Commercial body-swapping centres run for profit? Seriously? I don’t think even your subconscious is that dumb. No, I have another theory: a guilt-free roll in the hay was exactly what you needed, last night, and you just needed me to give you a way to have it, one that your mind could accept for long enough to get the deed done.”

“No, I ...”

She waved a hand at me. “Shh. Well, I’m going to leave now, Bobby.”

“Don’t call me that!” I snarled.

“All right. I’m leaving, Robert, but I just want to mention one thing before I do: I come to the bar downstairs pretty regularly. If you’re in Chicago on business again, maybe you’ll want to stay at this hotel? Maybe you’ll want to hang out in the bar downstairs, and maybe if you see a gorgeous black-haired girl, just maybe you’ll let her speak softly and soothingly to you until you nod off into a trance ... Maybe next time you can find out that Michelle is secretly a shapeshifter, or she’s been put under a spell by a wicked witch ... There’s no end to the games we could play! Think about it, OK?”

And with that, she blew me a kiss and strolled out the door. It shut with a click, behind her.

I sat looking at the closed door for a long while. I should check out this morning and never come back to this hotel again. Shouldn’t I?

Long minutes later, I shook myself out of my reverie, and picked up the phone to call Michelle.