The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Good Girl II

by sindy

It’s me again. Sindy. You know, the ex-high school cheerleader who discovered she had a whole set of deeply-buried submissive fantasies that she would like to have never known about? And all because I had a friend named Heather who talked me into going with her to the apartment of a couple of guys she picked up in a bar, one of which turned out to be a hypnotist. That’s where I watched him do his mumbo-jumbo on her, and watched her suddenly do all kinds of weird stuff, and felt the first hints of something that would end up changing my life forever.

You see, watching that did something to me. It’s embarrassing as hell, but it turned me on. I mean, really turned me on. I couldn’t let go of it. I thought about it day and night, and had to lay in a constant supply of panty liners because otherwise I would’ve had all these dark, wet stains in the crotches of my pants. Get it?

Next thing I know I’m at HIS place, a nervous wreck, practically begging to be put under, which he did, and the rest his history.

So why am I writing this? Well, the short answer is because I have a compelling “urge” to write it. And I know what that means. I can recognize a post-hypnotic suggestion when I feel it. Now, the long answer is going to take some explaining.

It’s been a year since I wrote my last confession. That makes me laugh, but it’s sort of true. It is kind of a confession.

Bless me, Hypnotist, for I have sinned.

The good news is I’m in great shape, better than I’ve ever been in my life. The bad news is my memory is kind of sketchy. At the moment, in case you’re wondering, I’m in “position”, so to speak.

My Mas—I mean, Del, has me down on all fours before him (while he watches TV), head down, ass up. (It’s hard to use his name because he’s got me so . . . well, I guess you’d call it conditioned.) He got a kick out of everyone’s emails from my last little writing, so now I get to do it again.

Anyway, I’ve always been a tomboy. Y’know, really physical and not into girly stuff? I hardly ever used to wear skirts or heels except on special occasions. And, like every girl, I experimented some growing up. I dabbled a little with makeup and earrings and all that, but I never got into it like all my friends. There was a lot of “private” conjecture among relatives that I was probably going to turn out to be a lesbian. Boy, if they only knew. I wish I was a lesbian. It would be easier to explain.

So how did I end up like this? On all fours with my cute little bum in the air, dressed only in a black thong and a way too tight, way too short, white tee shirt with my trigger written across it in big black iron-on letters? And when did the hell did I get my naval pierced? Hey, that’s even a mystery to me.

THIS is the kind of relationship I’ve gotten myself into. I was having sex with Master, I mean, Del for a month and a half before he let me know. “Let” me know. And even now, I sometimes don’t remember, and sometimes I sort of do, but it’s a little bit like a dream—there, but not there, real and not, live AND Memorex?

Anyway, picture me, a nice college girl, brown ponytail, blue eyes, shorts and tees (modest shorts and modest tees), new sneakers, walking along campus, minding her own business, when all of a sudden she sees this guy. He’s cute. Glasses, short dark hair, handsome but intelligent looking too. Our eyes meet, and I know it’s coming, even if I’m not sure what “it” is.

He does something. I’m never sure what. Maybe he itches his nose, or tugs at an earlobe, or crosses his arms, but right afterwards, without even realizing it, some part of my body signals back. Maybe I lick my lips, or touch my bra strap, or maybe even tilt my head a little.

Without saying a word, he’s got me signaling him, telling him I’m available to accept a suggestion. That’s about the extent of my control. If I’m really tired, or in a hurry, or with someone who won’t understand, or in a situation I can’t explain my way out of, some part of me signals that I’m not available. It’s never a conscious thing. I have no idea what the signals are or whether or not I’ve told him it’s okay for him to continue.

I just know that sometimes he smiles and goes on about his way, and sometimes he grins from ear to ear and gives me another signal. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to guess what signal was what, and he’s recently explained why it is I’ll never know. He says that sometimes even when I signal my “okay” he doesn’t act on it, and that sometimes even I signal “not now”, he makes me do something anyway. Nothing dramatic, just something. (More than once I’ve twitched strangely, had my arm flail out in the air for a second, or made a strange noise (like barking!) for no apparent reason.)

But just imagine me walking along, smiling at a guy I know, when all of a sudden he does something, coughs or mouths a word. Then I drop to my knees and beg like a dog, or even worse, sometimes I don’t move at all, just stand there like a mannequin in a store window. The crazy thing is maybe I’ll remember it and maybe I won’t.

I know my trigger used to be “Goldmine, Sindy”. After he said that I’d be like jelly. This amazing heaviness would come over me; it would fall on my arms and fingers and legs and shoulders and head all simultaneously. I’d get so incredibly sleepy that I’d just close my eyes and experience what I call “the falling”, which is like this very real sensation of plummeting down to the bottom of a really deep mine shaft.

And that would be about it until I woke up.

At first, when he showed me how to do it, to go under whenever he said those words, it was sort of fun and exciting to go along with it, but after while it seemed less and less like a game, like a “go-along” kind of thing, and more automatic. That, as he’s explained, is what happens when you’ve been conditioned.

It’s such a weird thing to think about. I mean, Master can say something to me and I will do whatever he’s said. I’m really helpless to it. I don’t really even get the chance to resist it. He told me a little about that too.

Here’s how he said he did it.

He said a long time ago he gave me a suggestion that my going under would be like a game we could play. Each time I heard my trigger I would try to go under faster and faster. In fact, I would try to beat him to the punch. I would try to get so fast that I would be under before he could even finish saying my trigger. He’d changed my trigger at this point from the usual “Goldmine, Sindy” to some really long phrase that I used to remember really well, but now just can’t bring to mind for some reason.

It took me awhile to figure out what he was doing, and by then it was too late. You see, he KNOWS how competitive I am (damn him!), and he used my own nature against me.

For awhile, he’d get to the third or fourth word before I really sank. But it didn’t take long before I was “out” on the very first word. And pretty soon, I got it down to a syllable.

After this little “game” of his, he had me so if I even THOUGHT he was going to trigger me, I’d just fall over on the spot and go down. Apparently, he used that on a lot of things, because after that I always seemed to be right in the middle of the suggestion before I even knew I was doing it.

So you see, my idea of “going along” has pretty much vanished. But, I guess this is what I wanted all along.

The first word of that long phrase has become my trigger now. I mean, I guess, technically, that long phrase is still the trigger, but all he has to say is that first word and “my lights go out”, if you know what I mean. Fortunately, that word is this really obscure term that he says only he knows. Although, it is on my tee shirt.

Which leads to all sorts of other complications. Like the first time I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. There was that word.

He’s laughing right now because he thinks this is funny.

Anywho, next thing I know he’s in between me and the mirror and waking me up. Apparently, even seeing the word backwards knocks me out. Yes. Very. Very. Funny.

Then, once, he made me get the door when the pizza guy showed up. God, that was embarrassing. Here’s this strange guy with long hair in his little pizza uniform who has the door opened by me wearing only my thong and tee. I wanted to run and hide, but my feet were rooted to the spot. I “knew” I couldn’t leave until I paid him and got the pizza.

Well, he looks me up and down, then wouldn’t you know it, he reads my tee shirt! Aloud! Zonk! I’m out.

All of a sudden I’m on the couch feeling really warm and kind of molten hot and like I absolutely have to fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fortunately, it was Master and not the pizza guy. Still, I never have quite figured out whether my sore nipples were a result of a suggestion or because he let the pizza guy take a few “liberties”.

But that was just one extreme thing he did. Mostly, he just keeps me guessing in little ways. Like, for example, making me forget to wear a bra. Now, when we go out, I get to wear my normal clothes, which is usually shorts and a tee shirt (but not my “trigger” tee, that would be bad).

This is how it happens: If he’s there when I’m getting dressed, he might come into my room while I’m picking out my clothes. Then, sometimes, usually, I get this little woozy feeling and a kind of “just woke up” feeling. It can pass quickly and the first hundred times he did it I didn’t even know anything had happened. The next thing I know, I’m out the door, feeling fine, and half way through the night before he says something like the word “realize”, then I’m suddenly aware of having forgotten something. Usually, it’s a bra, but sometimes it’s panties.

Once, he let me get all the way to the car in JUST my panties and bra. I even had my sneakers on!

If he’s not there when I’m dressing, he’ll do it over the phone. I got around this for a little while by just not answering the phone before meeting him. But he managed to get around that. If I hear his “special” ring, I HAVE to answer the phone. Then, there’s the old woozy, just woke up feeling, and what do you know? I forget all about wearing a bra. Usually, I think I’ve already put it on, even if I haven’t slipped my shirt on yet.

Oh, and if only that were the end of it.

There are lots of triggers I do remember, because he wants me to remember them.

Let’s stick to the bra-less nights for an example. So, there I am, at a club or a restaurant, sitting there in my thin little tee with my nipples poking right through (and the waiter or waitress or bartender is just going ga-ga). Then Master, I mean, Del. Jesus! Del. Del. Del. Del. There! God, that’s hard. Anyway, I’m sitting there and Del starts grinning from ear to ear and I’m giving him a dirty look and mouthing the words, “Don’t do it.” But since when does he listen? Besides, he says I love it, and I’m ashamed to admit, but I do.

“Righty Tighty,” says Del.

And all at once, totally out of my control, I feel my right nipple, just like . . . “fill”. It gets tight and pointed and sticks right out. As if it wasn’t obvious enough. The worst thing is I know it’s going to happen but I can’t stop it. “Lefty Loosey,” gets my left one going.

Or if we’re walking through a crowd? Forget it. That’s when he starts with “Tweak right” or “Tweak left”. And I’m yelping because my right or left nipple feels just like someone pinched it. And if he starts with the “Rub-a-dub-dub” I know I’m in for a long day of being constantly rubbed “down there”. For some reason I feel a finger (sometimes his, sometimes mine, sometimes both) rubbing and rubbing and making me so wet I want to die.

I usually spend a lot of time like that. And, during those long stretches of time, I tell you I would give anything to make him say the words “good girl” followed by a snap of his fingers. That is one phrase I have come to love (or visa versa, if you know what I mean). Sometimes he does it in the movie theater, or in line, anywhere because he knows how hard it is for me to be quiet. And I suppose he loves watching me twitch and close my eyes and break out in a sweat and bite my lip and practically hyperventilate. More than once I’ve had to sit down or escape to the bathroom.

He just told me I’m forgetting something. I have no idea what. I thought I was—

Oh. My. God.

I remember it. I had to take a break there to give him hell about it. Oh, he thinks it’s so funny. God, I can’t believe—I just can’t believe I did that. It’s still sort of coming back to me, but . . . wow. I’m all shaky. Why does this stuff excite me so much? I know my face is blood red. It feels like my cheeks are on fire. It’s embarrassing.

But, like he says, I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t really wanted to.

But still—

Okay, here’s the thing. Master, I mean, Dell has some friends. They’re pretty nice. Some guys, some girls, one ex which I’m not too crazy about, some couples, and he decided to have a birthday party for himself. Well, of course I helped him. It was in his apartment so I showed up early to help decorate. I even wore a skirt and hose and heels for him. Or did I? I seem to remember some conversation we had about that, but it’s pretty vague. I was awake, or at least I think I was, but I remember being really, really focused on him, and that usually means only one thing. Oh, yes, and when he stopped talking, I remember I would zone out.

Okay, well, let’s change that then. He “suggested” I wear something sexy for his party and I apparently took that to mean my short little knit skirt, black, and my black hose and heels. In fact, it seems like I bought those just for his party. Anyway, I had this glittery top that was sleeveless and backless and exposed a little of my midriff.

Now, you can’t pin this on me, but it is very possible that this might have been the outfit that got me that piercing I don’t remember getting. Gosh, this stuff gets so complicated.

So there I am at his front door, hoisting up my top, pulling down my skirt, teetering on my heels, feeling absolutely ridiculous, when he opens the door and just sort of stands there, mouth open, staring. Okay, so I’d put on a little makeup and done my hair. Still, I will admit, that while I never really understood what women saw in all the clothes and makeup and all, I kind of get it now.

All at once, just because of the expression in his eyes, I went from feeling like a total fool, to feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world. I tried to resist when he asked me to turn around, but he was so turned on (overtly so!) that I gave him a little spin, and ended up right in his arms.

He said some very nice things which got me all blushy and weepy, and well, it was worth it. All the moussing and makeup, all the perfume and shaving, even the curling iron and the pinched toes . . . worth it.

And this is about the last thing I remember until I woke up on the couch waiting for the guests to arrive. I was a little warm and a little tired all of a sudden, and had a taste lurking around in my mouth that took me a bit to recognize.

Now, I’m pretty sure I said something about it, because the next thing I know, my tongues tastes like I’ve been eating oranges and I’m answering the door.

All of his friends arrived, and seemed pretty happy to be there, but every time I greeted them at the door, they just sort of stopped and stared at me. I thought it was a little rude, but then wondered if they weren’t just surprised to see me all dressed up. I mean, maybe it was just a compliment.

So the whole party went by and I played hostess, got drinks and made pleasant conversation, and even carried a tray around with hors d’oeuvres. The evening passed pretty quickly and I had a great time, even though at the end I was totally exhausted and aching in the strangest places. I mean, I expected my feet to hurt, and my back, but my bottom was sore, and I mean really sore. I could barely sit down on it. And my nipples were on fire. My entire chest ached. I blamed it on the bra, which was basically just two cups and a bottle of glue. What were those things made out of? Scrubbing wool?

Although, I now know what really happened.

Apparently, my cute little glittery blouse didn’t stay on long. Those guests were not surprised by my sudden fashion sense, but my bare breasts. Through whole evening I had no idea that I was walking around all plump and aroused, nipples hard, blushing from head to toe, and topless. Master thinks this is the weirdest part. I didn’t consciously know that I wasn’t wearing a top, but I guess my subconscious knew and acted accordingly. He says I blushed through the whole party, but I smiled and chatted with everyone and went on like normal.

And if anyone said anything about me not having a bra, or for that matter a shirt, I would just smile and nod and say, “Oh, okay. Thanks for pointing that out!”

Then there was the tray of hors d’oeuvres I was carrying. Okay, well, there were no treats, no little goodies on the silver tray. It seems I had my breasts perched on top of it and was walking around offering a squeeze or a pinch or whatever people wanted. God, no wonder why they hurt!

Oh, and saying, “Hi! Are you having a good time? Great. Well, just to let you know, I’m under hypnosis and will do practically anything you suggest.”

What all I did is still a mystery.

I do remember kissing a guy, just sort of a peck though, and, of all things, kissing his Master’s ex.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one under hypnosis that night. Oh, Del had himself a grand old time. He’d had himself a little hypnosis fun and put me under the looooong way, along with another volunteer, a guy I seem to recall, but in the process (and I still wonder if he didn’t plan it) his ex went under too. I guess, back when they were together, she used to go under all the time, so it came back to her with a vengeance.

I do seem to recall her saying at the end of the party about how she’d forgotten what it was like. I hadn’t understood it at the time, but I do now.

“I thought I’d be immune, y’know? But, it was just like Boom!”

At least she could laugh about it.

Although, I’m not sure if she remembers everything, or if I do for that matter. In fact, I’m sure I don’t.

Because, here’s the thing. I have this memory, which, again, is sort of like a dream that is hard to hold onto. I was sitting on her lap and someone was saying something to me, and I kept shaking my head and saying “no”. We were all laughing, and I got the definite impression that they were trying to get me to do something but I wouldn’t go along.

Then, I have this memory of sitting on Del’s lap, though I don’t remember getting up or switching laps. Suddenly, I was just there in Del’s lap, trying to remember to keep my knees together so as not to give everyone a show since I wasn’t so used to skirts. I remember said something sweet and I kissed him. Only, it felt strange. Just sort of different. He has a way of kissing me that is uniquely him, but this didn’t feel like that. It was softer, way more hesitant, and I kept thinking I tasted lipstick but just assumed it was mine, since I’m not so used to that either. And I kept thinking I smelled perfume that wasn’t mine, but I just assumed someone had put really soaked herself in it, but now I wonder. . . .

For some reason, in this memory Del seemed a lot shorter than usual. And I could swear I remember the feeling of fingernails on my arms.

At least it wasn’t anything more than that.

So, that’s it. Not everything, of course, but a lot of it. Besides, I’ve been sort of letting my cute little bottom sway back and forth, and I’m almost certain it’s giving Master ideas.

Except, I could’ve sworn I was wearing my usual thong and tee set, and for some reason I’m now noticing a cotton tail on my ass and bunny ears on my head.

When did that happen?