The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Titillation

“Hi boys and girls,” she stated loudly in a silly deep voice. “Today we’ll be learning about SHARING. Can you say S-H-A-R-I-N-G? Sure you can! Now let me show you what we’ll be sharing.” Barbara sprang into the air, did an amazingly wide splits, slowly spread her legs, rolled onto her back and arched her hairless dyed (or maybe spray painted) fluorescent purple pussy into the air like she was trying to make sure the whole (imaginary) tv audience could get a good look...

I responded quite reasonably. I dropped my briefcase and nearly pissed myself.

Back to the Beginning: Missionary to Mercenary

I thought about what I had done the whole way home. I hadn’t really made my mind up yet. Whether to actually use the special tape I made. The very special tape. The one that had been a bitch to keep secret. Barbara (my wife) was always poking her head into the computer room for this or that so I had to edit all the “special” material into the tape with the movie editing software I got for Christmas And planned to use on the Video I was going to make for my little nephew Petey. Working on two projects simultaneous made both go a lot slower and keeping the two separate hard. That’s where the trouble began I guess. I always overestimate what I can handle. How it actually happened I can never be sure. I guess I should just be glad that tape didn’t end up at my brothers house on his VCR. If things had to turn out this way I guess I’m glad my wife... but I’m getting ahead of the story. I should give you enough background so what follows makes some sense. So here goes:

Vestal Virgins on Wheat Bread

I love Barbara very much (more than the world) but her upbringing leant new meaning to the words repressed and uptight. Prudish puritanical and missionary all come to mind. I hate her parents for messing her up so bad. I can’t for the life of me figure out how they managed to have a child given their view of sex and the relationship between men and women. Men are from Mars and women are celibate Venusian vestal virgins. At first it was ok. We had a relationship built on something other than sex. Yah, I know, I’m a guy, how can I say that. A thousand generations of my male ancestors just turned over in their graves. But Our marriage was the whole package, minus that one piece. That one piece that I saw and kept hearing everyone else had. The piece that even dysfunctional TV families had. Yah, everyone on the planet but me and Barbara. Missionary a couple times a month. I mean I wanted it all, for both of us. Man and women does not live by bread alone. Plain unbuttered dry wheat bread week after week, month after... well you know. Sometimes you want a little peanut butter, sticky, smooth, maybe chunky. I used to think it was cute and quirky but week after week, into several years the newness wore off. Lets just say it became clear that this particular clam wasn’t opening up in my lifetime no matter how much steam was applied. Her pot wouldn’t boil, she didn’t know how to use the stove and was afraid to try. I got desperate to help her , myself. I just couldn’t take any more cold showers (I was beginning to get a permanent pucker to my skin). I got really annoyed. We couldn’t even discuss it. I wasn’t looking for a lot. Just a little give and take. Those holier than thou bastard’s had really done their work well. Scarred for life, irreversible damage, beyond repair. I loved her damage and all. But... I’d just make the best of a hopeless situation.

Welcome to the Tangled Web

Then one birthday she got me something I’d been talking about but hadn’t ever done anything about for years. She got me a computer. I could barely keep the thing from crashing every other day but it did distract me. I bought like fifty games to keep my mind off... things.. Technologically I’m somewhere between cave man and the invention of the electric light so I didn’t do much more than play games on it really. Someday I planned to track my bills or something useful. As it was it was a very expensive toy.

Then my neighbor Bill did IT. He showed me the internet. He wasn’t quite so techno phobic or backwards as I was so he took me under his wing and showed me a world I couldn’t have ever imagined on my own. I discovered that the internet was a pornucopia of things I had always dreamed about but never dared voice or even bring home on tape. I downloaded 500 megs of stuff the first month. Barbara would have freaked completely had I ever brought adult videos half as “racy” as this stuff. There wasn’t anything thought of by man or beast that wasn’t there.

“Live girls all the time”.

People really did actually do the things I dreamed of...

I wasn’t some sort of perverse potential child molester, I was a member of a large community of sexually liberated free thinking adults who all shared one thing: The dream of an unrepressed society, a place where freedom of expression and creativity extended to sex, not excluded it. Rush Limbau (I can’t spell his name and he aint important enough where I feel the need to look it up, you know who I mean) and Jesse (If it aint family values, it aint art)Helms could rot in their conservative hell with no one to play with but each other. I had died, been reborn, and was rushing towards the sexually enlightened light...! “Tom? Supper.” Everything went black. I couldn’t breath. I was suffocating in my life. Something terrible was reaching its clammy claws out of the puritanical darkness, dragging me kicking and screaming into the depth of some puritanical perdition. It closed on me, smothering, smothered in the bosoms that I would never paint or put clips on or just pinch hard. Paintings are for viewing. Barbara was a masterpiece, most of her behind impenetrable museum glass. I was a blind man. I only wanted to feel the texture of her art for myself...

And the Lord Said: Let There Be Subliminals

All the arty talk aside, all I really wanted was a little more variety. I loved Barbara dearly but there was a world of sex out there she would never explore without more than a nudge. A lifetime of old fashioned values and “anything but missionary is going to send you straight to hell” wasn’t going to just go away. It was about the time I started contemplating having myself neutered (it got that bad) that I discovered EROTIC HYPNOSIS AND THE NOT SO SUBTLE ART OF SUBLIMINAL PERSUASION. This site intrigued me. I didn’t for a minute believe in this stuff. It was another game adults play pretended. Something I’d never get the chance to do if I weren’t willing to pay some stranger to... I didn’t even want to think about it. But I was desperate and what is that saying about desperate times? I went back to the web site. One of the banners read “Make your dream girl into a real slut. 100% guaranteed suck-cess. She’ll be going deep in no time.” a bit extreme but I read down the page further. I hunched over the screen hiding it like a kid with his first playboy reading it (for the articles of course) by flashlight late at night under the covers. I was hiding it, the door was locked, I did keep looking over my shoulder, the sound was off, and so were the lights. The site if any of it were true at all was amazing. And it’s “unique” collection of downloadable how to files and pre-recorded “training” files made it all sound too... wonderful/easy. I downloaded a couple hundred more megs of stuff.

How could someone so desperate not to end up sitting in the dark with cyber-ladies and massive phone/credit card bills in their future not take a chance, however crazy? I went for it. After all I love Barbara, and have weak wrists that made the future a painful prospect if this was it. And since hope springs eternal I carefully studied every page, downloaded every file, chatted with other “hypies” (short for hypnosis enthusiasts) as we playfully called ourselves in chat-rooms until I had convinced myself there was a small chance it might work, and that I understood it enough to proceed. There was still the moral dilemma, the issue of free will. Applying force to someone you love, even in their best interest whether physically or psychologically was still wrong. But was it REALLY wrong to want to free her from her puritanical bondage?

Is Sleeping On the Couch With Your Wet Dreams Really an Option?

I tried approaching Barbara the next night with one or two of the less drastic ideas I had had. I explained as delicately as I could and explained I just wanted us to be able to enjoy each other more. I thought our marriage was about over. I guess I didn’t explain as well as I’d hoped. She got the idea I didn’t want her because she was frigid and I wanted her to become some sort of robot whore chained to the bed 24/7 . That that was all she was good for.... It was weeks before things settled out, returned to a semblance of normal. And even the mock civility was strained most of the time. I’d gone from a little bad sex to celibate in one easy step. I’d talked myself into a lifetime of shriveled balls and cold showers. I stopped off at the pharmacy and got myself a whole case of hand lotion to keep me and my new best friend “lefty” company on all those long nights ahead. But that evening as I tried to decide left or right tonight I made a decision, threw out the lotion, and began editing a special tape of stuff I’d downloaded from EROTIC HYPNOSIS AND THE NOT SO SUBTLE ART OF SUBLIMINAL PERSUASION into a family vacation video she was fond of watching for god only knows what reason. Hey, I figured with the possible exception of my interfering man hating sister-in-law moving in with us (who thought everyone’s life should be as lonely and spinsterish as her own) or were to get wind of this, my life couldn’t get worse. And that too was a shame, she could have had any man she wanted, me included. Funny how the prettiest girls are always the most screwed up? But I shouldn’t be going on about the shrew. His isn’t her story. But again I am telling it out of order.

There I was, envisioning me and my computer being lifelong bedfellows.

I snapped, ok? I snapped and acted without the slightest thought. I did it and now... but I’m getting ahead of myself again. To save my marriage, to save myself from a life of whacking off in cold dark rooms, endless embarrassing internet adult checks I did the only thing my feeble brain could come up with. I had to help her, us, “help” her without her knowing. It was that or just accept a missionaries life. “How many sequestered sexless monks does it take to change a lightbulb?” I don’t know but I don’t want to find out either,” I muttered to myself. Inside joke. But given the situation it just wasn’t very funny. And if things didn’t change I’d find out the answer. I just wish I hadn’t been quite so impetuous and more careful. But then again I was looking for something different, something more playful. I just wasn’t quite ready for the sight that met me that afternoon when I was still contemplating whether to act. Yes, I vacillated.

What I saw when I opened that door however left me committed, maybe even comittable. God help me, but I was so turned on.

As Seen on TV: Sitting Too Close is Bad for the Wrists

There she was, exactly as I first described. On her back.

I guess the real surprise was that part of my programming subliminal tape had accidentally been laid over a kiddy video I had pirated for my nephew Petey. I had edited both tapes at the same time so if Barbara stuck her nose into the computer room she would only see me putting little Petey’s tape together. The couch, the dark, and lefty didn’t look any better now. I couldn’t let her get wind of what I was really doing. I guess I wasn’t as good an editor as I thought, maybe I was too tired when I finished, maybe down deep it wasn’t really a mistake at all.

All I really know for sure is that when I opened that door my dream girl was all I had expected and one thing more.... purple.

“One shot, irreversible, can only add to programming.”

“The first layer of programming CANNOT BE MODIFIED, only built upon.”

“Extreme care is required....”

Doctor Mezmar Smit’s (the alias of the web master for EROTIC HYPNOSIS AND THE NOT SO SUBTLE ART OF SUBLIMINAL PERSUASION) words ran through my mind as I stood there staring, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, stunned and dazed. And with the biggest hard on of my life.

All the material he had carefully read came flooding back, especially the cautions. The whole series of large red type bolded and italic’d cautions:

Initial reorientation is irreversible.

Early programming can only be added to, never erased, so be careful to be precise and give simple exact instructions that cannot be misinterpreted.

“Hi kiddies, what are we going to learn today.”

Programming is cumulative: The Boob Tube

One message or idea at a time only should be introduced on each tape. She’d watched my master tape which hadn’t been cut yet. Watch, obey, learn, do, need, be more sexy, be less uptight, sex is good, trying new things are good, you are horny, you crave sex, experiment, sex is fun, sex is not”yucky”, Semen is a turn-on, Tom is your master, kinky is good, you are a sex slave....” crap. (Authors note: I never intended to include those last three to 5 items on the final tape, but truth be told I’m not upset they made the cut.... ) Please use this material only in a consensual manner. Well I guess her deciding to watch the tape being her decision... Please don’t walk on the grass.... What? A joke by the programmer to see if anyone was really reading every line. I did and carefully. Too bad there hadn’t been something about “falling into the wrong hands” or “secure tape when not in use”. I wanted to help Barb overcome a few hangups, not mess her head up even worse than those ass-holes that raised her had. Nice job. Make sure this material is sublimated to a tape of something innocuous that has no messages of it own. “Hi Kiddies, guess what we’re going to learn today...” sigh. Play these altered tapes only in a controlled setting and under supervision. Ooops... Discontinue use at the first sign of any odd behavior not intended. This programming IS permanent. Like painting yourself purple inside and out? Programming should be gradual. Once or twice at most. And Play tapes only for short periods when first initiated. Increase usage once a training program has been established (as much as 3 or 4 times a day is acceptable). Overexposure can have extreme side effects and heavy imprinting effect. For 9 hours in an endless tape loop might qualify. 20 min. tape three times an hour for 9 hours. 27 times. In effect I could check off every item on the don’ts list at least once.

“Hi boys and girls,” she stated loudly in a silly deep voice. Today we’ll be learning about SHARING. Can you say S-H-A-R-I-N-G? Barbara’s boobs bounced with each exaggerated gesture. He purple flesh glistened with the sweat of exertion. “Sure you can! Now let me show you what we’ll be sharing.” Barbara sprang into the air, did an amazingly wide splits, slowly spread her legs, rolled onto her back and arched, arched her now completely hairless dyed (or maybe stray painted) shiny purple pussy into the air like she was trying to make sure the whole tv audience could get a good look. She was clearly already wet from playing with herself. The room had the scent of an animal in heat. I was wishing I’d taken the cutoff and gotten home ten minute sooner. I’d definitely missed the first part of the program and there wasn’t any replay button on a live show.

“Playing together nice is very important,” She said in that silly voice trying desperately to sound most stern. “Almost as important as sharing, and today we’ll be doing both. So come closer and we’ll open my special secret treasure chest together.” I gotta tell ya I was both horrified and entranced and found myself “playing along” almost against my own will.

Barbara burst into an improvised song : “I’m a slave , you own me, push my button and slide in me...” See boys and girls? Serving our master can be...uhhhh, uhhh... yes....deeper...uhhh.... (gasp) very rewarding.” She had improvised one of the zucchini’s for supper into service as a... prop. She ran her tongue luxuriously, painfully slowly, savoring along its length. I could only groan as my pants grew more crowded.. Just watching I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the shower. I wondered if this show had an audience participation segment.

Then she noticed me standing there. “Hello, little boy. And how owd are you? Come on up here. Mr Zucchini is yummy but...what Mr Zucchini? You’re tired?” Barbara frowned a big stage frown. “Who’s going to help me with today’s lesson then?” My hand went up like I was back in grade school. Barbara looked all around. “Hmmm... who should we pick?” I looked all around too,. She had to be kidding, I was about to blow a nut. I just prayed she didn’t pick another inanimate object. “What, Mr Z, the little boy in the front row?” Bingo!

Hygiene, No Jeans and Other Colorful Themes

And remember she inserted suddenly, pulling off me with a slurpy sound just before I could literally pop. “Good hygiene and cleaning up when your done playing, and putting everything away where it belongs is all part of sharing and playing nice. Never ever leave anyone else a mess to clean up.” During this whole speech to the imaginary camera and audience Barbara had been deftly stroking me to the very verge. Apparently that bit of the training had taken nicely and Barbara hangups about touching, fondling, playing with her bestest friend mister winky as she now called it were completely overcome. I was pretty overcome myself.

“Always help with the cleanup after playtime, it’s the good neighbor thing to do,” She told all the boys and girls. And with that, and perfect timing, she plunged face first into my lap and began lip stroking like a piston in a supercharged car. She got an almost airtight seal. It was only a few seconds before my key cylinder fired under her skillful enthusiastic stroking and humming. The motion and the vibration were too much and I have to admit I actually screamed in pleasure like a little girl and collapsed under my new purple plaything (which hummed a moment or two longer) before finishing my “cleaning” with her well taught subliminally trained tongue.

“Always qween up kibbies,” she mumbled as she turned too face the camera. “And your fwembs will Always want to pway with you uhgin and uhgin. (Swallow) And tomorrow well discuss our animal friends the beaver and the elwusive twouser twout. Wont that be fun?” I could only groan approval weakly and smile. When my strength returned I began to chuckle. BARBARASAURUS (as I had begun to think of her) was in the other room mindlessly removing her purple personality so she could return to her roll as Barbara the semi-hungup housewife. But this wasn’t what I was chuckling about. I was more musing and considering than chuckling as I reread the letter from Barbara’s drop dead gorgeous (bitch ) sister Cecile over and over.

Today we’ll be studying bi-sex-u-al-ity...

“Honey?” Tom called into the bathroom, not sure who would answer at this point. He knew he had built a time limit into her trigger phrase in case something went wrong and wasn’t sure if it had taken (all things considered). “Yes,” normal Barbara replied as the water stopped running. Your sister wants to come and visit us, and I think it would be good for you two to spend some time together getting reacquainted and do some “Girl stuff” together. Family is important” Barbara paused as she stepped from the bathroom, rubbing her hair dry with a towel. Puzzled he would agree so easily, even suggest such a thing, Barb’s sister hated Tom with a passion. The feeling was mutual. What was he up to?

She only thought about it for a second, the changes in her not really allowing her to give much deep thought to anything (an unavoidable side effect of being exposed to something as brain damaging as THAT kiddy show). “That would be nice,” Barbara agreed. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, nice,” Tom replied thoughtfully, “very very nice.” Tom had a hunch that the next theme of the BARBARASAURUS show would be the importance of family. Can you say threesome...?

Somewhere in the back of his mind Tom saw his all too smart for her own good sister-in-law duct taped to a chair for three days of non stop educational (kiddie) programming. “Today’s Program was brought to you by the color purple,” he whispered to himself.

After all, all good kiddie show hosts have side-kicks right?