The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cindy Newsome bounced gleefully, belting out Fairview University’s football cheer in unison with the rest of the cheerleading squad. She knew the guys in the stands were getting off watching her shake her 40-DD boobs, and she loved it.

Except . . .

Yes, there he was again. Marvin Finkel: president of the chess club and the psych club, 3.98 GPA—and all-around poster boy for Nerds Anonymous. Slick black hair parted in the middle, round glasses with Coke-bottle lenses, acne, slouched posture making his slight pot belly more obvious. He even wore white socks, for crying out loud! He looked like the teenaged George McFly in the Back to the Future movies. Sounded like him, too, that whiny, hesitant voice. The thought that he might be getting turned on looking at her wasn’t exciting, it was creepy.

She decided to do something about it. The first thing was to get him alone. . . .

Marvin stared at the girls on the field, breathing hard. Not now, he told himself: later, when he got home with the digital camcorder he’d stashed in just the right spot to tape the cheerleaders’ practice sessions. But he was—it was—hard, not to lose control, especially when he saw Cindy doing her stuff. She was incredible! She was—she was—he fought his way out of a feverish daydream about her.

Trouble was, she hated his guts. She went out with the football jocks, dragging knuckles and all—especially Biff Andrews, captain and hero of the team, the O.J. of tomorrow (in more ways than one, Marvin suspected) even if he did look as if he’d stepped off an SS recruiting poster. She knew he liked her, though, and rarely missed an opportunity to humiliate him.

Well, Marvin thought, that was about to change. His hand went to the small box in his jacket pocket. All he had to do was get her alone. . . .

Cindy’s chance came right after practice. Marvin was fiddling with something—God, I hope it’s not himself, she thought—under the bleachers when she came up behind him. “Boo!” she said.

He yelped and almost dropped what he’d been holding. Surprised, Cindy saw it was some kind of fancy camera. That’s right, she reminded herself, he’s in photography club too. He likes all that boring stuff.

“Ooh, Marvin,” she cooed. “Don’t be scared. I saw you watching us practice and thought I’d come over to say hi.” She leaned forward to give him a close-up of her cleavage. That oughtta get the balls rolling, she smirked.

“Y-you d-duhh-did?” he stammered, momentarily titty-stunned. He collected himself and carefully set the camera down.

“Sure,” she said. “I think you’re cute.”

“Y-you do?” he responded. “But what about all those times—”

“Oh, pooh, silly! I was just a kid.” Cindy knew how to pull a guy’s strings; even a jerk like Marvin had his vanity. “I’ve grown up since then. Muscles are great, but it’s the guys with brains that end up making out like bandits.” And let him take that any way he wanted. “Listen, I’m going to a party tonight; want to come along?” There was no party, of course—but she’d be sure to set one up. For what she had in mind, there had to be witnesses.

“S-sure,” Marvin replied. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock,” Cindy said. “Bye now; see you tonight!” She turned to go.

“Wait,” Marvin said. It was now or never. “I have something to show you. Something you might like to wear to the party.”

Despite herself, Cindy turned back to face him. Marvin smiled. He knew Cindy, all right; she liked pretty clothes, especially jewelry. His plan depended on that weakness of hers.

He took the box out of his pocket and opened it carefully, drawing out a crystal pendant on a gold chain. (Well, gold-plated, actually; he was no rich kid.) A quick glance around confirmed that they were still alone, and that the lighting was right. He held the pendant up before Cindy’s eyes, letting it sway gently on its chain. The sunlight glittered off its crystal in intricate, shifting patterns.

“Marvin,” Cindy breathed, “it’s beautiful! Wherever did . . . you get . . . it?” Her eyes locked on the crystal, following its motion, her voice drifting as she found it hard to think of anything else.

“I made it,” Marvin said. “Just for you. The crystal’s an array of hand-ground lenses. See how it sparkles just like a diamond as it swings back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.”

“Jus’ like . . . a di’—mon’,” Cindy mumbled. “Back an’ forth. Back an’ forth. . . .” She smiled sleepily; her head began to sway along with the pendant. “’S beau’ful. . . .”

“Yes, it is, Cindy,” Marvin agreed. “Just like you. In fact, it is you, and you are it. Say it for me, Cindy.”

“It’s me . . . and I’m it.” Her glazed eyes actually seemed to shine like the crystal as she spoke the words. “Beau’ful.” She smiled wider.

“Now, Cindy,” Marvin instructed, “I want you to close your eyes. You want to close your eyes; they’re so tired. So heavy. You can’t keep them open.”

“C-can’t keep . . . m’eyes . . . op’m,” Cindy slurred as her eyelids fluttered shut. Her whole body was swaying in rhythm with the pendant now; Marvin enjoyed the show, but kept his mind on business. So close now!

“Listen to me, Cindy.” She sighed in response. “Your eyes are closed. You’re deeply asleep, more deeply asleep than you’ve ever been, lost in la-la land.”

“Lost in la-la land,” Cindy whispered.

“But Cindy—this is very important—you can still see the pendant, swinging, sparkling. You are the pendant, and you can see it, see yourself, swinging and sparkling. Beautiful.”

And she could, and it was beautiful, she was beautiful, swinging and sparkling. “Yes,” she murmured.

Marvin put the pendant away. “Now Cindy,” he asked, “why did you really come to see me? It makes you feel so good to tell the truth; tell me the truth, Cindy.”

“Oooooh,” Cindy whimpered in dazzled ecstasy. Then she said, “I was going to make you think we were going on a date, and then when you showed up, I was going to have Biff beat you up in front of a whole bunch of people.”

Marvin fumed, but he’d suspected something was up. Now was his chance to turn the tables, but good!

“Cindy, you’re going to forget that idea completely. You’re never going to think of anything mean to do to me, ever again. In fact, you can’t. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” came the response. “Forget . . . whatever it was I was . . . gonna do. Never think of anything mean to do to you, ever again. Can’t think of mean things to do to you.”

“That’s good, Cindy.” Marvin thought carefully for a minute. “Now Cindy, you know I like you. You know I’d never do anything really bad to you.”

“Yes,” Cindy acknowledged. She’d always known that; it was one reason she’d been sure she could get away with picking on him.

“That’s good, Cindy. Now listen carefully, because this is how things are going to happen.

“In a minute or two, I’m going to wake you up. You won’t remember what just happened, and won’t notice me while I pick up my stuff and leave. You’ll feel relaxed and tired, like after a good practice.

“At seven tonight, instead of me picking you up, you’ll come to my dorm room. You know I’ve got a single, don’t you? No roommate. So we’ll be all alone, like we are now.”

“Yes. Come to your dorm room. We’ll be all alone . . . like we . . . are now.”

“When I answer the door, I’ll say, ‘hip hip hooray.’ When I do, you will immediately fall asleep again and do everything I ask until I wake you up. You will have no inhibitions about it, because it’s me and you know I would never ask you to do anything you didn’t want desperately to do. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” came the reply. “’Hip hip hooray’ . . . I must obey.” She giggled, then continued. “No in, inna . . ."—she creased her forehead, struggling to come up with a word her stupefied mind found too difficult—” ‘bitions, ‘cause it’s only Marvin an’ he wouldn’t make me do anything I don’t des—desp—

really really wanna do.” Eyes still closed, she snorted, “’Zif he could.”

Says you, bitch, Marvin said to himself, smirking. He took out the pendant again.

“Cindy, open your eyes,” he ordered. She did, and they locked instantly on the crystal, which he had set gently swinging again in the same rhythm her own body had continued. “I’m going to slow the crystal down”—he brought up his other hand to do so—“and when it stops, you will blink your eyes twice and become fully awake. As I told you before, you will not remember what happened here, and you won’t notice me while I leave—but you’ll do as I told you to, isn’t that right?”

“Yes . . Marvin.” Her eyes were still following the pendant as it gradually slowed; her body’s undulations were slowing as well. “Not remember . . . what happened. Not notice . . . you leaving. Do as . . you told me to.”

“That’s good, Cindy.” He stilled the pendant and watched as the cheerleader blinked twice and looked around. Then he picked up the pendant and camera and walked off.

Cindy blinked twice, then looked around, annoyed. Where was the little twerp? She was sure he’d been here, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

The Wachsman Tower bell bonged. Five o’clock! Jeez, where was her head? She’d lost a whole twenty minutes and she needed all the time she could get to set up—to get ready for . . . what the hell was it she’d been planning?

Oh, yeah. She was supposed to go over to Marvin’s. She’d tell him off, oh yeah! She didn’t like him ogling her at practice. But—well, why nuke the guy? Just let him down easy, that was the ticket; it wasn’t like she didn’t have lots of practice.

Two hours later, she was knocking on Marvin’s door. When he opened it, she saw it was every bit the sty she’d imagined. Books and clothes everywhere. Wall posters of bikini-clad bimbos—yeah, like Marvin had a chance! And Marvin himself, Coke-bottle lenses and all.

“Come in,” he said. She did. Let’s get this over with, she thought irritably.

Then—“What the hell?” she burst out. Marvin had a full set of slinky, kinky clothes laid out: fur-trimmed bikinis, boas, extra-skimpy fetish cheerleader outfits, fishnet stockings, stiletto-heeled pumps and thigh-high leather boots, all kinds of fantasy gear. It must have cost a fortune! And there was a camera setup off in the corner.

“Hip hip hooray,” Marvin said.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch in her head. “M-Marv . . . uhhhhnn,” she gasped, her vision, her entire mind, suddenly filled with the sight of a dazzling, beautiful pendant, swinging, sparkling. She swayed helplessly in time with the image which was now her only thought.

Marvin finished setting up the camera and turned to the hypnotized girl, smiling in triumph.

“Cindy, we’re going to do a photo shoot,” he said. “You’re going to pose in these outfits, moving to the music”—he turned on the CD player next to him, which began blaring a strip-club background—“while I take pictures. You’ll feel excited, helplessly horny, while the music is playing, and you’ll let that show in your posing. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Under . . . nnnnghhh! Stand! Oh God!”

He handed her the first of the cheerleader outfits. “Start with these.”

She did, slithering out of her own clothes to the music and then posing sexily in what Marvin had given her. She writhed, puppeted by the music, alternately giggling and moaning in ecstasy. Then it was on to the next outfit, and the next, and the next.

Despite himself, Marvin lost it, coming several times as he watched her perform for him. It was a dream come true! At one point he was so delirious he even fantasized about switching roles, letting her hypnotize him. He could have done it; he could have brought her out of trance with the suggestion to use his pendant on him—but fortunately, he held on to enough sanity to resist the temptation. As it was, her incredible legs, her tits, the pleasure, oh God! nearly put him under.

Finally, playtime was over. An exhausted Marvin stopped the music and the camera, and addressed Cindy.

“Listen to me, Cindy.”

“Yes, Marvin,” she sighed. She was tired too, covered in a sheen of sweat which plastered the tight halter top and short-shorts she was now wearing to her body.

“In a little while, I will say the words ‘Great workout, Cindy.’ When you hear those words you will, while still asleep, put your own clothes back on. You will then kiss me goodbye as passionately as you can. It will feel wonderful to you. Then you will leave my dorm room and go home. Do you understand?”

“Yes. ‘Great workout, Cindy’—put my clothes on. Kiss you goodbye . . . p-pa-pass . . . real sexy. Feel . . . w-won—won—great.” She giggled vapidly. Again, long words had been too much for what passed for her mind in trance. “Leave and . . . go home.”

“That’s good, Cindy.” He smiled. “When you get home you will wake up completely. You will not remember coming to my place, or what we did. You won’t wonder about what you did during this time. You will relax for the rest of the evening, maybe even read a homework assignment, until you are ready to go to bed. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, and repeated his new instructions dutifully.

“That’s good, Cindy. Now listen very carefully, because this is very important.” She nodded.

“You know that I’m very smart. Marvin’s very smart. Say it, and believe it.”

“I know that you’re very smart. Marvin’s very smart.”

“That’s good, Cindy.” He paused, then went on. “I know you have trouble with some of your classes, Cindy, because you can’t concentrate on them; you’re too interested in boys and cheer squad to pay attention. But you’re not a dumb bimbo, no matter what some people think.”

“Not a . . . dumb bimbo?” The questioning tone in her hypnotized voice actually made him feel sorry for her for a moment. Clearly she had some issues.

“No, I promise.” Cindy’s answering smile, even coming from a hypnotized zombie-babe, made Marvin feel warm, and vaguely guilty. “So here’s what we’re going to do.

“You will find it easier to pay attention in class from now on. Just listen to the teacher the way you’re listening to me now—except that you’ll stay awake! You’ll pay attention and remember everything the teacher says, but you won’t have to obey.

“You’ll spend more time studying. You don’t have to quit the squad, but”—the football Neanderthal had it coming—“you won’t go out with Biff as much. You don’t have to dump him altogether, but you won’t have as much time for him now that you’re studying harder. Do you understand all this?”

“Mm-hmm,” Cindy said. “Yes.” Again, she repeated his orders.

“That’s good, Cindy. Now, one more thing. I’m going to help you study.”

“Thank you,” she said drowsily. “Marvin’s very smart.”

“Yes, he is. I am. So what you’ll do is, every Tuesday night at seven o’clock, you will come here to study with Marvin. You won’t let anyone know about it, ever, because you know your friends don’t like Marvin and might make fun of you, and you don’t like people making fun of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, repeating his words dreamily.

“That’s good, Cindy.” That phrase, by now, had to be burned into her brain; he’d have to see sometime if he could put her under just by using those words. “Now, whenever you come here, if I say the words ‘Hip hip hooray’ to you, you will instantly relax and do whatever I say until I wake you up. You will have no inhibitions about it, because you trust me completely and know I’m helping you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “’Hip hip hooray,’ I relax and obey. No inna-bitions . . . ‘cause I trust you . . . com-plete-ly an’ you’re . . . help-ing me.” Guilt again. Marvin squashed it angrily. Revenge was what he was after, and by God he was going to have it! And if her itty bitty feelings got stepped on, too bad. What had she been doing to him all this time?

“That’s good, Cindy.” He drew a breath. “Now before we finish up, there’s one more thing I want.” He turned on the stripper music again, then turned back to his zombie cheerleader.

“Listen to that music, Cindy. Imagine yourself on stage, in a club somewhere no one who knows you ever goes, stripping to the music. It turns you on to strip to the music.” Slowly, Cindy began reaching for her halter top, but Marvin stopped her.

“No, Cindy. Not now. Dance for Marvin, but don’t take your clothes off now. Not here, not yet. Just imagine you’re really stripping. Make it real in your mind.” Cindy obeyed, dancing seductively, writhing and spinning around an imaginary pole under spotlights only she could see, gazing out at a phantom audience, obviously aroused by the script unfolding in her head. After a few minutes, Marvin said, “That’s enough, Cindy; you can stop now.” She did. He turned off the music.

“Now, Cindy, I want you to remember that music. I want you to remember the stage you were dancing on. I want you to remember the crowd, and how horny it made you to turn them on.”

Cindy gasped and shuddered. “Oh God, oh God!” she panted. “Yes! Yes!”

“Cindy, I want you to remember all of it—but only in the back of your mind. When you are awake, you will not remember. But if you hear that music, you will forget where you are and be aware only of that stage, that audience, and you will really strip to the music and won’t care about anything else. Any people around you will become part of the audience, and you will strip for them eagerly, for real, wherever you are and whoever they are.

“Only when the music stops will you stop, and remember where you really are. And—this is important, Cindy, listen very carefully”—she nodded slowly—“you will remember stripping, and remember that you couldn’t stop yourself, and that you enjoyed it. What you will never remember is that I told you to do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Cindy replied. “When I hear the music I am back on stage, where nobody knows me, and I strip to the music. I will forget where I really am. Everyone I see is a stranger in the audience. I remember only the dancing, the feeling. When the music stops I will remember everything . . . except that you told me to strip to the music. I will never remember that.”

“That’s good, Cindy.” Marvin sighed. It was getting late. “We’re done here. Great workout, Cindy.”

Eyes glassy, Cindy mechanically peeled out of the final outfit Marvin had given her to put on and dressed herself in her own clothes again. That done, she turned to the waiting Marvin, flung her arms around him, ground her body into his and kissed him wildly for more than a full minute. When she let go he was gasping and cross-eyed, and had come again. As she opened the door to leave, he almost begged her to stay.

When she had gone, Marvin cleaned up his room, threw his clothes into the laundry hamper and took a long shower, then went to bed. He’d had a tiring day, but a really satisfying one, oh yeah. And thanks to his post-hypnotic suggestions, there would be plenty more to come. They hadn’t even had actual sex yet! But now that he’d seen how receptive Cindy was to his suggestions, he had no doubt that they would, and soon.

As she opened the door to her own room, Cindy Newsome blinked. She looked at her watch. 10:30? That couldn’t be right; where had the time gone?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Idly, as she crossed the room, she glanced at her math textbook, lying unopened on her desk next to the newest Cosmo. Surprising herself, she picked it up and began to read. It didn’t seem all that hard, really, but there were some things she couldn’t quite get.

Maybe she should get some tutoring. That guy Marvin Finkel—he was kind of a geek, but he knew this stuff cold. She giggled. She’d just bet he’d like her to ask him for help! Maybe tomorrow she’d call him (she could get his number from the student directory) and set up an appointment. Tuesday at seven, maybe?