The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Do you mind if I brain?

Chapter III. My magic hands.

Palpably prostrated, Sarah lays silent in the couch for almost a minute, looking at me with a mix of gratitude and affection. I don’t say a word, letting the magic atmosphere sink in and fade out slowly.

—“Jason... I will never thank you enough. I was really agonizing in pain, I never imagined my head can hurt so much... It was similar to a knife ripping my brain from the inside!”

—“I believe you, dear: migraine is the worst pain which can be experienced by human brain”—and picture it multiplied by five folds, I mentally note!

—“Your hands... your mother was right: you have magic hands. It seems that your touch could reach inside my brain and shut down the pain!”

—“I’m happy I’ve been of help”—I emphasize.

—“I’m happy too. I really don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here with me: a pain like this can drive you crazy!”

—“So... it seems that the advice to relax yourself and skip the party comes from a man of good sense.”

She stares at me again, intently, as if her mind is recalibrating her attitude about me: of course I can’t be her Prince Charming, but where has previously been irritation for me spoiling her evening plans, now stands a warm sense of connection.

—“It’s hotter than usual, in here, or maybe it’s a leftover of the migraine? I feel my skin like burning”—she says opening the upper button of her silk dressing gown.

—“Well, brain is somewhat stunned during migraine’s after-attack”—and perhaps you’re starting to feel the effects of the aphrodisiac, I add talking to myself—“it’s a rebound effect, I suppose: brain eventually frees itself from the grip of pain, eliciting a general disinhibition on neural activity. Some people experience a burst in creativity and even in sexuality after migraine!”

—“Really?”—she asks, trimming down the sense of guilt for hew growing arousal.

—“It’s scientifically demonstrated. Moreover, I had a direct experience of it. I think she would kill me for telling you this, but she died fifteen yeas ago, so I think I’m safe... well, after one of her migraine attacks, I stumble on my mother masturbating in the bathroom.”

Camouflaged in aphrodisiac’s murmurs, I tiptoe inside Sarah’s mind to check the images evoked by the masturbation topic. Also due to the drug, the memories of her auto-erotic trips spring vividly like April breeze through the branches of her neurons. I transform the current of air in electricity, convey it down her spine to tickle her most intimate parts and head off unnoticed.

—“Ghhh... I really can’t blame your mother”—she says, fighting to stop a moan of pleasure—“as well as a mother and a doctor, she surely was a brave woman.”

—“Yes, she was, indeed. And you remind me some pictures of her in her thirties, even if I have to admit you’re notably sexier, eh, eh...”

She smiles back, pleasured by my admiring comment, continuing to mindlessly twirl a strand of her hair around a finger with gentle movements. I remain silent, letting her nervous excitement grow. She strokes her lower lip and crosses her pantyhosed legs, pointing her top leg towards me in somewhat flirtatious way.

—“Now, I think it’s time I go”—I lie, to test her reaction—“I don’t want to abuse your patience and hospitality”.

—“But... stay, please, Jason!”—she says almost in panic—“It’s obvious I’m not going anywhere tonight: let’s... let’s take some time for us to chat about our lives. For example, you know I’m an officer, but I don’t know anything of you.”

I start to lightly stroke my crotch and she subconsciously mirror my movements.

—“I’m a free-lance photographer. Photography was my passion since childhood.”

—“Really?”

—“Yes. I set up a photographic exhibition at the Finny’s art gallery, last year.”

Her breath is getting quicker and she smiles again.

—“Will you show me your best shots, sometimes?”

—“Most surely I will”—I declare, laughing—“and if you like it, I can use you as my subject for new artistic pictures. I would be honoured to have you posing for me.”

She laughs teasing me.

—“Are we speaking of artistic nudes, Jason?”

—“Why not? You’re sexier than any model I ever had. I probably pass the rest of my life contemplating your photographs and playing with myself, eh...”

Again, in synch with my allusion to masturbation, I sneak inside Sarah’s mind: due to her growing arousal she’s completely off-guard as if laying in the grass during a warm and sunny August afternoon. I whisper to her inner ear—I’m safe with Jason, I trust Jason, I can abandon myself to passion... In her drugged arousal condition, her brain seizes upon the idea, starting to repeat the mantra on its own.

She laughs and licks her lips subconsciously.

—“Eh, ih, ih, well, we can arrange a nude posing, according to my shift work”—she says as if she’s really considering the possibility.

—“Great! I’m sure it will be exciting.”

—“Eh, ih, ih, I feel strange, Jason... it seems I can’t stop laughing”—she says almost giggling and disengage eye contact to look down.

A small pause follows and she stares at me lovingly to reinforce the mutual trust. I decide it’s time to take the next step.

—“If I may ask, are you seeing someone on a regular basis? I mean, is there a man in your life?”

—“I had a love affair with Thomas, eh, ih, but unfortunately something went wrong along the way. We had been engaged for two years, but we broke up six months ago. He accused me to be a manipulative bitch, prrr! My ears are still ringing at the thought of the ugly words he shouted at me, ih, eh...”

—“Was he right?”—I ask turning serious by the moment, with a hint of sadism.

—“Uh? Who knows”—she sighs, taken aback—“I... I don’t like to be told what to do and perhaps his ideal woman is a compliant housekeeper who cooks, cleans and always smiles, ih, eh...”

I laugh soundly.

—“It’s evident he chose the wrong woman: you’re so strong willed and full of verve! Unfortunately, I suppose this can be intimidating to most men and as a consequence, you’re condemned to an unhappy life...”

Her giggles space up a bit.

—“Perhaps you’re right”—she admits sadly—“Perhaps I’m not the wifey kind of woman. That’s why I decided to have a break with love issues for... a dozen of years and stay on my own. But... what about you, Jason, ih, eh?”

—“I’m single too. My last girlfriend, Dorothy, had frigidity problems, as I’ve told you before. She wasn’t able to climax and that get her nervous and frustrated.”

—“I see...”—she says with absolute empathy.

—“But I loved her and... well, can I speak freely, Sarah? There’s a natural fondness between us: you were utterly... open with me and I want to be honest too.”

—“You’re welcome, Jason. Men usually don’t like to talk and it appears you’re a pleasant exception to the rule, eh!”—she says intrigued, starting to lightly fondle her breast.

—“I really don’t know how I can do strange things with my hands, but as you’ve experimented on yourself, I’ve got the magic touch. When I feel a strong affection for someone, my hands seem to develop curative virtues. Magic virtues.”

—“Ah, ah, nice joke, Jason! Hence, you’re a climax magician! Abracadabra... ih, anyway, now that I think on it, I’ve never believed in magic, eh.”

—“Perhaps that’s the cause of your unhappiness, I mean, Sarah, love is magic!”—I say starting a digression to keep her on her toes about the climax issue—“And that’s not all: fantasy is magic, life is magic, every little thing she does it’s magic... If you are not able to find a bit of magic in everyday routine, it’s not surprising you end suffering from over-stress. You can call me Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, but I suggest you to submit to your natural, animal self, and thus to be less rational and more adaptive, more emotional if you want to reach fulfilment and happiness.”

I stress the word submit to see her reactions. To my dismay, the bitch has a mental startle, even though the arousal is plainly numbing her brain.

—“I have to admit that you have a great capacity for speech and persuasion, Jason, but I know by myself how to live my life. On the contrary, I was far more interested in the impaired climax issue...”—she says, with ill-concealed eagerness.

Even if annoyed by my patronizing advises, she is hanging from my lips.

—“Well... sex was main Dorothy’s concern: she wanted it, but she couldn’t reach orgasm. It was really frustrating not only for her, but also for me! Her gynecologist said the cause was a psychological block, but no drug or physical therapy was able to help her...”

I stop and sigh, to enhance the suspense.

—“And then?”—she asked more and more flushed, stoking her inner tights.

—“Dorothy was on the verge of a nervous breakdown: sexual arousal and lubrication occurred... body tension built up to unbearable levels... but she was unable to reach climax. She was so frustrated by the lack of release that she attempted suicide!”

—“Oh my God! Poor girl”—she almost cries, mirroring herself in Dorothy’s torment.

—“My sixth sense tells me you well understand her agony due to personal experience.”

—“I... I can’t reach climax ever since Saturday, after my fainting”—she admits weeping and almost trembling due to her wicked arousal—“I did a Google search... it’s called FOD, which stands for female orgasmic disorder... it was described as an acquired post-traumatic condition, somehow related to over-stress...”

—“I see...”

—“So... how did you help Dorothy with your magic hands? Did... did you...”

—“No. Her block was psychological, it was a mental health problem. I just touched her forehead with my fingers, massaged for a while and... boom!”

Sarah is now gently rubbing her crotch, with half closed eyes. I enjoy the show and amplify her mental tension evoking memories of the most intense orgasms in her past life.

—“If I didn’t know you for a upright woman, Sarah, I would think you’re masturbating right now.”

She blushes embarrassed at my joke, recovering a minimal self-control.

—“Ja... Jason, I’ve... I have to go to the bathroom... can you please wait for me a while?”

She rises to her feet and wavers, then runs towards the bathroom. The door closes loudly and the key turns in the lock. I grin, pleased with the results of my hard work, and slowly approach to the closed door. When I’m near enough to catch her mental aura, I close my eyes and watch through her mind the scene taking place inside the bathroom. As expected, Sarah is frantically massaging her clitoris with a small vibrator and fingering herself, with no relief. The strength of her arousal shakes her brain, but the barrier holds up: one, two, three, dozen of assaults crash against the barricade, which squeaks, leakages a bit, but doesn’t give way to the long-awaited massive orgasm. She fondles her nipples, she even tries to impale herself on the fingertip towel holder, with no avail. Visualizing erotic scenes can be of help to reach climax—I whisper to her inner hear and she unconsciously starts to surf through images of her having a gang bang with an american football team. As expected, her frenzy boosts up even more. Completely overwhelmed by passion, she doesn’t realize I gradually modify her erotic fantasy: men became more and more dominating, posing her as a rag doll, giving her orders and Sarah happily submits and obeys, on all fours. I love being fucked like a bitch—I suggest—I love being used and I love being obedient. She doesn’t raise any mental objections: the arousal is so dazing and compelling that if I would tell her that Napoleon Bonaparte is coming for dinner she would believe it. Then I remember when Saturday night I was implanting in her brain a foot-fetish and Thomas came back cutting short my work. I review the mental records concerning what in the male body she perceives as most arousing and I find out that she was able to restore tallness in the first position. Since I did not have the time to fix and sustain the changes with long term reinforcement, she was able to revert to normal. Normally, it’s not wise to do major adjustments inside people’s brain while they’re conscious: they can sense my intrusive presence, fight it and refuse changes. However, Sarah is so horny and absorbed by her sexual arousal that she can’t notably interfere with me resuming my work on her brand new foot-fetish. I isolate the “just-tallness-is-sexy” network and tear apart its every connection to be sure Sarah won’t be able to assemble it anymore. I then slightly modify the sexual fantasy she is visualizing in her mind: I pose her in the leapfrog position, resting her chest and head on the floor of the locker room while protruding her ass in the air, fucked form behind. Then I place the naked football players all around her, with their bare feet very close to her face. This is my sexual bliss—I mumble to her subconscious—I will never be tired to stare in adoration: this is my personal heaven. Meanwhile, I link the image directly with the widespread arousal bubbling her brain. I will never forget how much I’m horny while I look at male feet: yes, this is my ultimate sexual bliss—I repeat—I smell myself, so wet and horny, I smell the scent of arousal, I smell the strong stink of sweaty men in the locker room... it’s amazing how my entire brain is tingling in pleasure while I’m smelling men’s feet, isn’t it? Even if she accepts the suggestion at first, I sense a slow but sure hostility building up in her: mmmmh, how can I blame her? Stinky men’s feet are all but sexy, as everybody knows, but on the other hand a sexy woman humiliating herself by licking men’s feet is incredibly exciting. Anyway, I don’t want her arousal to be spoiled by resentment and suspicion, so I let the fetish sediment in her mind without extra-pushing. Moreover, it’s time to concentrate on the grand finale: oven timer is ringing and Sarah-in-heat is cooked to perfection. Everywhere in her brain, neurons are firing at random and her rational judgment is reduced to ashes. She is at the complete mercy of commandos of arsonists who run free through her mind and body and set fire to her passion up to the point that all her skin is burning and her pussy is on fire too. I need release. I need to climax... If I won’t be able to orgasm I will go crazy within minutes...—I chant along in her subconscious—Oh my God! Jason! Probably only Jason can help me! She has the magic touch! She cured Dorothy! She cured my migraine! Jason can give me climax, Jason can set my orgasm free!!

And after that, I unhurriedly go back to my couch an sit down, waiting for Sarah.

A minute later the door of the bathroom opens and... how foolish of it, the prey throws herself into the jaws of the predator. She has lost her slippers in the turmoil of the bathroom and comes up to me barefoot in her pantyhose, showing an almost blank stare, with her long brown hair partially covering her face. Her silk dressing gown has somewhat unfastened and I catch a glimpse of her left breast. She is lightly trembling all over and beads of sweat glistens on her body.

—“J... Jason, I...”

—“What’s happened to you, Sarah? It seems you have a fever!”—I say mimicking concern.

—“You... you’ve said you helped Dorothy... I need... I need your help, I need release, Jason”—she hardly puts into words with musky voice.

—“I do not know whether it’s appropriate, Sarah, I mean, we’re just friends who met again after years, there’s not enough intimacy for something like this!”

She bites he lower bit.

—“Pleeese Jason...”

—“And perhaps it won’t work with you...”

—“Please, try it anyway... I beg you...”

Mission almost accomplished: she comes right there where I wanted her.

—“But I don’t like to take advantage of your over-excited state. It’s obvious that stress, post-migraine thrill and frustration are altering your self-control. I will resolutely stick to the formal ritual to release your climax, without touching you sexually.”

—“As you prefer, Jason... I t-thank you for being so thoughtful and caring...”

—“If we will ever become lovers and have sex, I want it to be in a far more romantic contest.”

She stares at me almost adoringly, thinking what a well-mannered and chivalrous man I am.

—“You will never stop to surprise me, Jason.. but now... stop my torment, pleeeese...”

—“Ok, sorry for the delay, baby, but I wanted things to be clear. The ritual that worked for Dorothy commands that you go down on your knees, close your eyes and finger yourself while I massage your forehead to release the over-stress blockade.”

She kneels in front of my couch while I stand up. I fell my cock stirring in my pants as I savour her defeat and obedience.

—“Now abandon yourself to passion and masturbate indulging in your most thrilling sexual fantasies.”

She is already fingering herself. The movement of her arms makes the gown shoulder fall down, exposing her left breast. She starts to moan loudly oblivious of anything.

—“Continue like that Sarah, I’m starting to rub your forehead, do you feel it?”

—“Ghhhh...”

—“Now, as I massage and massage your head with circular movements, I want you to picture a mental roundabout, a very large one, with three lanes and deep-black draining asphalt. Can you see it?”

—“Yeeesss...”

—“Good girl, Sarah. Now feel your massive arousal coming up your backbone, feel the tingle of the pleasure entering your head and crashing against the barrier. Do you feel it?”

—“Ghhh...”

—“Good girl. Now I want you to place the mental roundabout over the barrier. Take your time, put it exactly where the barrier stands and feel my thumb drawing circles on your forehead. The roundabout has just been completed by road workers and is still closed.”—I say, delighting in for my creativity.

Sarah is now frantically pumping her finger in and out her slit, completely soaked in her arousal. With lightning speed, I cross through her brain reaching straight to the red flag.

—“I’m proud of you, Sarah, you’re very compliant and I feel we’re almost there: you have placed the roundabout in the right place and if you continue to obey my instructions, be sure the orgasm is just a step away.”

—“Ghhh, uuuughhhhhhhhh...”

—“Good girl, now I want you to obey my last order: since today is the inauguration day of the traffic junction, imagine a traffic jam facing the closed roundabout. Yes! The roundabout is opening! Let the cars take the roundabout, Sarah, let flow the jam! Let flow the jam! I order you to cum: obey to me!”

With perfect synchronization I switch on the neural pathway bypassing the barrier set up on Saturday night.

Sarah gives an incredibly long high-pitched moan, rolls back her eyes and shakes all over, on and on and on, for almost a minute. Moreover, as an outstanding side effect, she also cums so hard that she somewhat wet the floor.

Mission accomplished: she cums right there where I wanted her.

Of course Sarah is not yet my slave, but a sticky link is established between us: as neuroscientists well know, neurons which fire together wire together...