The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Salome woke troubled, crying out as her eyes opened.

Rubaia, one of her sister concubines in the harem of the great Sultan Aroun al-Abbas, heard her and came over. “Is it the dreams again?” she asked.

Salome nodded, causing her thick dark hair to bounce. “Yes, sister,” she admitted, “the dreams.”

“Tell me what you saw this time,” pleaded Rubaia.

“I rode in a great metal carriage,” Salome said. “It was attached to many other metal carriages just like it, fore and aft, and the whole ran without horses or camels on steel rails with wooden slats between them. It went so fast!

“I knew, somehow, that it was hot outside, but in the car it was cool and comfortable. Strips in the roof of the car gave forth a bright light, with no sign of candles or other fire.

“All the people were dressed in strange infidel clothing, and they were of every race in the world: dark Africans, yellows from beyond the Hindu Kush, even pale ones from the lands of Europe. None of the women were veiled or wore the burka; some were dressed and painted as gaudily as any woman of the streets. Most of the men were shaved and had short hair, and wore costumes of polished shoes, straight-legged pantaloons, shirts and jackets, with strips of cloth like nooses tied around their necks and hanging down in front.”

“And you?” Rubaia’s voice was eager.

“I was dressed in some strange version of the men’s clothes, with shoes that had high heels on them where the men’s did not, and without the cloth strip around the neck. I was carrying a leather case, and I knew there were important papers inside for which I was responsible.”

“That just proves how silly dreams are,” opined Rubaia. She laughed, bobbing her head and letting her dark red hair bounce. “What manner of men would entrust important documents to a woman courier? Even the infidels don’t do that!”

“I know,” sighed Salome. She ran a hand through her own hair, a wavy dark-brown mass which rippled almost to her waist. “I know.”

Rubaia looked at her critically. “The dreams really bother you, don’t they?” she observed.

“Yes,” Salome admitted, “they do. I do not understand them. I don’t know what they mean, or where they come from, or why they trouble me so—but they do. Each time I have them, I wake feeling not only puzzled by what I have seen but feeling as if I have forgotten something important, something I need to remember. I don’t like it!”

“You need to see the physician,” her sister courtesan judged. “Master Al-Baz will know how to make the dreams go away. If you like, I can have Omar carry a message to him for you.”

Salome nodded. “Yes. Do that. Please.”

Rubaia was as good as her word. The senior concubine spoke to Omar the eunuch, and the next day, Omar entered the sanctuary and announced, “Salome is to come with me now. Physician Al-Baz wishes to examine her.”

Salome went willingly. The previous night, she had had yet another of the strange, disturbing dreams. In it, she had sat at a long wooden table with a number of men and one or two other women, all dressed in the strange alien garb she had seen in other dreams. They had been talking about money, or something, and no one had seemed to find it odd that females were present. When she’d awakened, she had felt oddly discontented with her comfortable life in the Sultan’s seraglio. It almost seemed as if she ought to be somewhere else, doing something else—but she had no idea what. She had lived in the Sultan’s household since he had purchased her from her parents when she was sixteen. She couldn’t even read; what could she do without a man to care for her?

And it wasn’t as if Sultan Aroun were hideous, or cruel. He was a bit fat, true, and his hair was going, but he had bright eyes and a nice smile. And he always treated her kindly. He was her master, and she had to do anything he commanded—but she wanted to. She was going to see the court physician now not only for herself but so that she could continue to serve her great master as he deserved, rather than being plagued by these strange images and thoughts.

The physician’s chamber was brightly lit by wall torches high on the walls backed by silver mirrors which reflected their light downward. It contained a rich paneled desk, comfortable chairs and a plush upholstered settee. Rows of shelves along the walls—safely away from the torches—were full of books, thick scrolls tied shut with heavy leather strips. Salome knew what books were, even if she couldn’t understand them. Unbidden, she sat in one of the chairs, facing the desk.

The beads hanging in the doorway rustled as Physician al-Baz entered. He crossed the room and sat behind the desk before addressing her. “What seems to be the trouble, my dear?”

Salome explained. As she spoke, wise eyes glittered at her from behind the strange glass lenses Al-Baz wore, which were mounted in a gold frame that fastened over his ears. She had seen such things on some of her master’s visitors from time to time, and found them decorative.

Finally Al-Baz stopped her, nodding. He stroked the short beard which covered his pointed chin and said, “I’ve heard enough, dear Salome. I believe I can help you, if you’ll do exactly as I say. You trust me, don’t you?”

The dark-haired woman was taken aback. “Of course, milord physician,” she answered. “Why should I not rust you? Are you not doctor and adviser to my master the Sultan, long may I serve him?”

“Excellent!” The physician got up and went to a cabinet along the back of the room, bringing forth a strange object. It bore a smooth disk set upright on a round piece in back which was in turn attached to a mount which ran down into a broad, flat base. The upright disk had a multi-colored spiral pattern on it, speckled with round spots, small near the center, larger toward the rim. He set the object down and did something in back of it.

There was a faint hum and the upright disk began to turn, slowly, regularly. The spiral seemed to draw Salome’s eyes; she found herself automatically following the pattern and the colors, around and in, around and in. Around and in.

“Fascinating, is it not?” The physician’s voice was soft and soothing. “As you watch, the spiral seems to move inward, drawing the colors and the spots inward, drawing you inward. Around and in, yes, that’s how it looks, that’s how it feels; your eyes follow the spiral around and in, and it’s so relaxing to follow the spiral around and in, yes, follow the spiral, follow the motion, follow the colors, around and in.”

“Follow the spiral,” Salome repeated in a whisper. “Follow the motion . . . follow the colors. So relaxing.” Her eyes moved by reflex, following the spiral, as her long-lashed lids fluttered. “Follow . . . around and in.”

“Yes,” Al-Baz instructed her. “Keep following the spiral, around and in. And now it’s not just your eyes that follow the spiral, but your whole body, around and in, drawn inward, and your mind, yes, around and in, drawn deep into the beautiful spiral, deeper, moving toward a special place where nothing exists but beautiful colors and the sound of my voice, a special place deep within the spiral where you are so relaxed, so unafraid, so safe and happy. You know you can let me guide you deeper into the depths of the spiral, deeper, because I am your doctor and I wish only to make you well, to keep you well and happy.”

“Yes,” Salome said in a sleepy voice. Her eyelids continued to flutter, but her eyes remained open, following the colors and the motion of the spiral, letting it carry her deeper and deeper toward that special place at its very center. Her head rolled loosely, following the motion.

After another minute or so of soothing suggestion Al-Baz informed his patient, “Now you have reached the very center of the beautiful spiral, Salome, you are at the very center, where all you can see are the beautiful colors and all you can hear is my voice. Nod your head if you are at the very center, Salome.”

Salome nodded, never taking her eyes off the spinning disk.

Al-Baz did something to the back of the object on his desk again, and the disk went still. Salome didn’t notice. She was no longer aware of the room in which she sat; for her, there were only the beautiful colors and the wonderful voice of her trusted doctor.

Al-Baz inspected her carefully. Yes, she was under. Her earlier conditioning had made her an easy subject. Her mind was now clay in his hands.

“Listen to me,” he commanded. “The dreams you have been having are bad dreams. They frighten you, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” whispered Salome. “They frighten me.”

“And the strange thoughts you have when you have the dreams, those frighten you, too, don’t they?”

“Yes,” the concubine whimpered.

“Then what you need to do is forget them,” Al-Baz directed. “You must forget everything you remember from these dreams. All the pictures, all the thoughts. Forget them. Because they’re bad.”

“Forget . . . all the pictures . . . all the thoughts . . . from these dreams,” Salome repeated. “Forget them. ‘Cause they’re . . . bad.”

“That’s right, Salome,” the physician encouraged her. “Soon I will bring you back from the place where you are now. When I do, you will forget the things from your dreams. You will remember only that you had some dreams which upset you; you will not remember anything about what was in them. Do you understand, and will you do as your doctor commands?”

“Understand,” Salome mumbled. “Forget . . . what was in . . . the dreams. Do as . . . my doctor commands.”

“And in the future,” the doctor added, “if you have such dreams, you will forget them as soon as you awaken. You will forget you even had them.”

Salome repeated the new suggestions obediently.

“Very good, Salome,” Al-Baz said. “Wait now, wait in that wonderful place where you are until I bring you forth. Soon I will bring you forth, and you will return to the harem, relaxed and happy. You will know you need no longer think about the dreams, and so you will no longer think about them.”

“No longer . . . think about the dreams.” Salome smiled sleepily.

The doctor thought a moment and added, “If you find yourself starting to think about the dreams again, and especially if you begin remembering them again, you will at once tell someone you need to see me again, and tell them why. If that happens, I will make the bad thoughts go away again. Do you understand, and will you do as your doctor says?”

“Yes,” murmured the entranced woman slumped in the chair. She sighed, and her eyes finally closed.

Al-Baz watched his patient for a minute or so. Finally, satisfied, he reached into the folds of his robes and drew forth a small device.

Dr. Herman Alba pressed the rocket-dial button on his phone handset. Several soft rings later, his call was answered.

“Yes?” His employer sounded annoyed.

“Dr. Alba here, Mr. Abbott, sir.” The doctor paused, then went on. “It’s about Salome, sir.”

“Yes?” came from the phone again. It sounded less irritated this time.

“As I warned you might happen, her old memories were starting to surface. She was having dreams about her old life.”

“Shit!”

“Now, now, sir,” Alba said placatingly. “I’ve got it under control. She’s here in my office now, in deep trance. I’ve programmed her with fresh suggestions to handle the problem.” He elaborated.

“All right,” Abbott responded at last. “You did warn me. But what if it happens again?”

“I’ve taken care of it, sir.” Dr. Alba was confident. “Remember, she’s been programmed to request another treatment from me if the dreams—the memories—start coming back.”

“And the others?” Abbott sounded suspicious now. “What if the others start reverting too?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” was Alba’s answer. “I can arrange for some extra monitoring, if you’re concerned, but I don’t see a problem. There are a number of women in your”—he coughed delicately—“household who’ve been under programming considerably longer than Sandra, er, Salome, and none have shown any signs of regressing to their former selves. This case is probably just a fluke.”

“It had better be,” the doctor’s employer returned. “I’ve invested quite a bit of money in you, Dr. Alba. I’d hate to think it was wasted.” There was a click, and then a dial tone.

Dr. Alba put away the phone, frowning. Oil billionaire Harold Abbott was not a man on whose bad side you wanted to be. He’d have to be careful.

Yes, very careful. His eye fell on the hypnotized Salome, slumped in her chair in her filmy harem costume. The woman she had once been wouldn’t have been caught dead in such an outfit; Sandra Dalton had been an up-and-coming female executive when she’d caught the eye of one of Abbott’s . . . recruiters, he supposed one might call them. Fifteen minutes after a couple of pills had been slipped into Ms. Dalton’s second martini at an engineered “business meeting,” a giggling, witless Sandra had been easy to lead away. By the time the chemical had worn off, she was on Abbott’s private estate.

Then Alba had gone to work on her, taking her deeper and deeper into hypnotic trance and reshaping not only her personality and memories but her perception of the world around her. When he was done, not only did she believe herself to be dancing-girl and harem slave Salome, in the court of a tenth-century Persian sultan, but her mind automatically edited everything she saw, heard, or felt so that as far as she was concerned, she was actually living in an Arabian Nights world. Electric lights, she saw as torches; business attire, as robes, turbans and curly-toed slippers—and so on. The illusion was helped, of course, by her confinement in the seraglio, where everything she saw really was as it appeared. (Well, almost everything; “Omar the eunuch” was really a perfectly intact security guard, kept from messing with the women not by inability but by the sure and certain knowledge of what his ruthless boss would do to him if he were caught. But even he dressed in full regalia on duty, flowing pants, midriff-baring vest and all.) She and the other girls there really were dressed as she saw them, the furniture was authentic, even the lighting came mostly from skylights.

Dr. Alba had to admit it was a sweet scam. Abbott got to indulge his private fantasies with women hypnotized into absolute immersion in their roles, women who’d never call the cops because they had no idea anything was wrong—and who wouldn’t know how to make a phone call anyway, or even what one was. Alba was quite proud of the program he’d developed for them..

And of course, besides the very comfortable salary and living arrangements Abbott provided, his job offered its own special perks. “Omar” might not dare fool around with Abbott’s hypnotized houris, but the “palace physician” was another matter. Not, he acknowledged hastily, that it would be smart to let Abbott find out—but he felt sure he was a lot less disposable than “Omar.”

Alba turned his attention back to the woman waiting in the chair.

“Salome,” he commanded, “open your eyes, sit up, and listen to me.”

The dark beauty obeyed, saying, “Yes, Doctor,” in a breathy, little-girl voice.

“Stand up, please, and move away from your chair into the center of the room,” Alba instructed.

Salome stood and positioned herself as she’d been told.

Reaching into his desk again, Alba brought out a small cassette player. He slipped in a tape and started it playing.

At the sound of the music, a new set of commands began to execute in Salome’s stupefied mind. . . .

Salome danced, driven by the music which now filled the air. Slowly, slowly, she peeled away her clothing as she spun and pranced before Master Al-Baz. Her diaphanous halter top went first; then, after an interval of strutting and swaying, snaking her arms and clashing the finger-cymbals she had worn, for no reason she had thought about, to the doctor’s office, she wriggled out of her semi-transparent pantaloons, leaving herself naked but for her slippers and a tiny piece of underwear. Very soon, those were gone as well, discarded with the rest of her clothes as she continued her dance.

At last the music ended. When it did, Salome slowed and stopped, then stood waiting. Master Al-Baz would tell her what to do next. Looking at him, she smiled a sultry smile; she thought she knew what he would ask of her.

She was right.

Al-Baz licked his lips before speaking. “Presently I will awaken you, and you will return to your place in the harem of our master the Sultan. But for now . . . " He began loosening his own clothes. “For the moment, you are very beautiful, and very, very warm with desire, is that not so? Of course it is.”

And of course it was. Salome bit back a moan. Her dancing always excited her, especially when she could see that the men watching were also aroused. And at he physician’s words, that feeling had grown much stronger all of a sudden. Had this happened before? Somehow, she had a vague memory that it had, but she knew not when, and it didn’t matter, anyway. Nothing mattered, except—!

Al-Baz was nude himself before her now, and fiercely erect. At the sight of that, her body moved on its own to press in on him. The doctor gasped as the gorgeous girl reached him and writhed against his body. He reached out, drew her to him, and guided her gently to the large, soft couch, where they sank down together.

For a time, there was no more thought, programmed or otherwise. There were only two heated bodies moving, pressing together in a rhythm ancient before recorded time. Finally a pair of voices cried out together in ecstatic release.

The two lay together for a time after that, basking in the afterglow. Al-Baz ran his hair through the waves of Salome’s hair and dangled one leg off the edge of the settee, lazily thumping his heel on the piled carpet. At last he pushed her off of him, stood, collected his clothes and began to dress. Taking her cue from the doctor, Salome did the same.

When both were clothed again, Al-Baz bade Salome sit in the chair she had occupied before, and sat down behind his desk. The strange object with the upright disk on it was still atop the table. He did something to it, and the disk began to turn once more, this time in the opposite direction, drawing the woman’s eyes. Within seconds, she was following the motion, all else forgotten.

Al-Baz stopped the spinning disk and addressed her. “Salome, you are now returning to my office from that warm, safe place within the spiral. You are moving out and around, out and around, out and around, and out. . . .”

“Out and around, and out. . . . " Salome sang softly. She was slowly spiraling out and around and out, away from the center of the wonderful spiral.

“In a few moments you will awaken in my office, relaxed and refreshed. When you do, you will forget what we’ve done here. You will remember only that I helped you with the bad dreams, the bad thoughts. You will do this because your doctor tells you to do it, and everything your doctor tells you is meant to make you well and happy.”

“Yes,” came a drowsy mumble. “Forget what we’ve . . . done here. ‘Member only . . . that you helped me with . . . the bad dreams. The bad thoughts. ‘Cause my doctor . . . told me to, an’ . . . everything my doctor tells me is . . . to make me well and happy.”

“That’s right, my dear Salome,” Al-Baz told her. “Now just continue moving out and around, out and around. You can see the room now, can’t you, at the mouth of the spiral, coming closer and closer as the colors and the pattern move past you as you go out and around, out and around.”

“Yes,” Salome agreed. “I can see . . . the room. Coming . . . closer.”

“And now you are coming out into the room,” the court physician informed the courtesan. “You are back in your chair, right where you started, and you are completely relaxed.”

“Yes, Doctor Al-Baz,” said the woman in the chair. “Back where I started. Completely relaxed.”

“Now in a moment, my dear, I will clap my hands. When I do you will awaken completely. You will awaken completely, with no memory of what we have done here except how I have helped you. But when you leave my chamber, you will do as I have instructed you. Repeat my instructions, please, Salome.”

Salome did. “Forget the dreams, and the thoughts from the dreams. If I have more dreams . . . forget them completely . . . when I wake up.” She stopped.

“And if you find yourself remembering the dreams, or the thoughts from the dreams, what must you do?”

Salome answered instantly, “I must tell someone I need to see you again . . . because of the bad dreams. The bad thoughts. You will make the bad dreams and the bad thoughts . . . go away again.”

“Very good, Salome,” Al-Baz said. “Now I am going to awaken you, and Omar will take you back to your quarters.” He clapped his hands.

Salome blinked, stretched, and giggled. “Oh, thank you, Doctor! I feel so much better!“

“That’s what I’m here for, my dear,” the physician responded. He reached out and pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling. Somewhere a chime sounded. A few seconds later, Omar passed through the bead-hung doorway.

“You are to come with me,” the burly eunuch told Salome.

She rose and allowed the harem guard to take her arm and guide her out of the office. She blinked as she passed through the bead curtain.

Dr. Alba smiled. Another successful session, he thought. Successful, and enjoyable. His smile became a smirk.

“Omar”—he’d never bothered to learn the man’s real name—had responded promptly to the buzzer he’d pressed. Not for the first time, he wondered what Salome had seen and heard when he’d summoned the “eunuch”; certainly not what he himself had. She was deep, deep in the world of illusion he’d conditioned her to perceive.

The hypnotist felt no shame at having taken the girl sexually. It wasn’t the first time, after all, even with her, and it wasn’t as if he’d hurt her. She didn’t even remember it.

He had some time now. He went to one of the bookcases and pulled down a large paperback. Returning to his chair, he settled down and began to read.

When Salome returned to the seraglio, the others crowded around with questions. Finally getting a word in, she assured them, “Everything is all right now. Dr. Al-Baz helped me with the dreams and the strange thoughts. I shouldn’t have them anymore.” She wrinkled her brow. “I don’t even remember them anymore.”

Rubaia regarded her and finally said, “Welcome, sister, back to reality.”

Friendly laughter filled the harem of the great Sultan.