The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

[fd, mc, mf, hm]

synopsis: As much as he enjoys it, Jonah knows he’s addicted to femdom humiliation. Perhaps his sister Angela, a skilled hypnotherapist, can help him with that.

Losers Can’t Be Choosers

(by S.B.)

Chapter 8 — Hell Hath No Fury...

There are people that say they can sense weather shifts in their bones, others state they have “gut feelings” whenever something bad is about to happen. Clarissa Barnes claimed neither, yet she had been in duress all day, and it wasn’t arthritis.

She stretched in a brown chaise longue, a ragged flowery dress from five Summers ago wrapped around her body, reading glasses glued to her forehead, and a small book about fractionation resting in her lap. The more she delved into the subject, the more fascinated she became, even if most of it still flew her by. It was hard to believe she had found a new hobby at her age, but it was true. And with new hobbies, came new Internet searches, and even more discoveries waiting for her.

The latest one had been hypnotic femdom porn videos. More than exhibitions of pendants, sultry breasts, and tantalizing voices, the images on display contained suggestive images and themes that made her pussy burst into flames. Though she had turned off the browser right away, embarrassed at her own sex drive, it still aroused her and she couldn’t get enough.

With so many lascivious fantasies running inside her mind, it was only natural for her thoughts to wander. Angela and Jonah and what they were trying to accomplish together was a recurring idea and if hypnosis could do that, then anything was possible. Perhaps her daughter would be so kind show her a thing or two more in her spare time.

“Shall I call her?” she thought. “No, it’s the weekend. Let her rest,” she immediately objected, yet the prospect of doing so never left her mind. In fact, both bones and gut appeared to be demanding she made that call.

Clarissa resisted the painful temptation and continued reading. The paragraphs were dense, confusing even, with examples of linguistic commands designed to bypass the critical faculties of the conscious mind. She scribbled a few notes on the right margin, a habit she had never lost since college days and pondered on all the applications of such techniques. “Maybe I can use something like this to get myself a new audition.”

She missed acting. it had been a year and a half since her TV show—a modern-day drama set in a fictional New York suburb—had been cancelled. With two consecutive Emmy nominations for best Actress, one would expect job offers to fall on her lap the moment she became a free agent, yet that hadn’t happen and with each passing day, the fear of perpetual irrelevance crept in.

The thrill of role-play was as real as it could be, a second and third skin superimposed on her dull routines. As she grew older, she often dreamed about dying in the middle of a performance, surprising everyone with the authenticity of her last hurrah, yet the wonders of hypnotic trance had her consider other ideas, a joyful new life. There were so many suggestions waiting. She had to learn them all.

Clarissa’s book slipped through her fingers, her daydream interrupted by a blaring phone call. It was Angela, and she was glad for now she could talk about everything at will with her and not feel bad about disturbing her weekend. Or so she thought. Hearing her voice on the line proved to be anything but comforting, and the pain plaguing her joints increased tenfold.

“Hello, mom.”

“Angie? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” Angela replied in a monotone.

“And Jonah? Is he with you?”

“Yes, he is. We completed another therapy session just now. He’s thrilled.”

“I take it that means it went well.”

“More than well. Everything is fine.”

“You’ve already said that,” Clarissa noted.

“Did I?”

“Yes. Why are you calling, Angie?”

“I would like to see you. Please come to my house.”


“Yes, please.”

“I’m grateful for the invitation yet also surprised at how unexpected it is. Did something bad happen?

“Nothing happened, bad or otherwise. Everything is fine,” Angela droned.

“Again with that?” Clarissa muttered to herself. Where she came from, saying three times in a row that “everything was fine” was the first evidence to the contrary. And was that a whispering female voice in the background?

“Mom, please come, and I’ll explain everything.”

“Why can’t you explain it now, my dear? I thought I heard another woman’s voice. Is there someone else with you?”

“It’s just me and Jonah, mom. Please come. We’ll be waiting. I have to go, now.”

“Wait, Ang...” silence fell down. Clarissa looked at the phone, in dismay. “This was anything but normal,” she concluded.

Although her successful career had been a stroke of luck more than anything, the Barnes matriarch knew acting when she saw it or, in this case, heard it. She was sure someone else had been standing next to Angela, almost as if reminding the young hypnotist her lines, but who and to what end?

One of the videos she had seen earlier in the morning depicted an elaborate mind control fantasy conspiracy where unsuspecting men were drawn by mysterious calls, only to end up in the clutches of a vile mind-controller, eager to play forceful brainwashing games.

Perhaps it was just paranoia talking but how strange of a coincidence was it to hear her daughter, one of the most intelligent women she knew, speaking on the phone with the human voice equivalent of a lifeless answering machine, and suddenly inviting her over? Too strange, and too big. Clarissa disliked coincidences as much as they disliked her.

“What’s going on, Angela?”

Mama Barnes tried calling her back, but no one answered. It was always like that in movies and TV shows, too. The sexagenarian left the comfort of her seat and hurried to the bedroom to change. If she was about to walk into a mesmeric trap, at least she had to look presentable.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gail was lashing out on her new mindless pet, and not in a metaphorical way. The oiled leather’s sting hit Angela’s hands. The happy hypnotized hypnotist didn’t waver, instead remaining docile and compliant.

“You were too obvious.”

“Forgive me if I did anything to displease you, Goddess.”

“I forgive you,” Gail lied. The second sting hit harder and the sadistic bitch grinned. “When she gets here, be sure to distract her long enough for me to inject her, do you understand?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

Gail rewarded the hypnotist’s automatic subservience with a gentle caress on her hair. The sudden disparity of sharp pain and erogenous pleasure melted her mind even more. “Good. I think you and your brother should worship me at the same time now.”

“What would you have us do?” Jonah queried, no longer doubting his subservient position at all times.

Gail ditched the boots, perfect little toes ready to play. “You can have the left. Slave girl, take care of the right one.”

“Yes, Goddess,” the two hypnotized servants replied in unison, pushing each other to see who would get to kiss them first. Jonah was faster, memories of the Olympic training taking over his muscles.

“No tongue!” Gail commanded. “You don’t deserve that yet.”

Angela whimpered, lips resting on the most beautiful toe nails she had ever seen. Goddess was so perfect, and she felt so happy when she was pleased with her... oh, what a wonderful rush! Her mouth opened wide, a salivating tip whirled.

“I said no tongue!” Gail barked, flogger raining down on Angela’s latex-clad bottom. The hypnotized hypnotist welcomed the pain, begged for more. Her new masochist side was something to behold and, with some extra training, she would become the perfect pain slut in no time. If it was something that ran in the family, then perhaps Clarissa would suffer the same fate.

Gail looked down at her horny, mesmerized pets, and chortled. The weekend had everything to be perfect.

* * *

Mama Barnes arrived at her daughter’s doorstep at 5 pm. Wearing a long, dark blue trench coat, tired eyes hidden behind the darkest sunglasses she owned, she could pass as a secret agent doing her best to throw people off. her attire was too cliché, her posture too obvious. Were she really in the intelligence business, no would believe it so.

That was a good thing. Clarissa was quite the expert at playing dumb, even before acting became her primary source of income. Often taken for granted, “dumb people” could go unnoticed whenever they wanted to, while still being aware of everything, and in control of the situation. Whatever was going on, it would not catch her off-guard.

The echoes of the doorbell had not yet faded into oblivion and Angela was already greeting her. Clarissa stared at her latex heightened curves and suppressed a “Wow!". Why couldn’t she be young and beautiful again to try one of those for size?

“I’m glad you’re here, mom,” the therapist said, an asinine smile on her face. Though her tone seemed a lot more natural than the one she had used on the phone, it was still a far cry from her usual self. Clarissa made a mental note of it and walked inside, scouring the environment for any sign of foul play.

The house looked tidy and perfect as usual. A hint of lemon and lavender reached her nostrils, yet it couldn’t hide the uncanny odor of depravity and sex lurking underneath.

“Where’s Jonah?”

“He’s resting at the moment,” Angela replied, letting the door slam behind her. She touched her mother’s left shoulder and urged her on. “Please come this way.”

Clarissa stopped in the middle of the central hallway and removed her glasses. Her restlessness became clear in contrast to the aloof attitude of her lovely young daughter.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Why do you think something’s going on? Since when does a daughter need a special reason to want to see her mother?” Angela shrugged, emulating the conversation they had in her office a few days prior.

“That’s not what you said when you called and, to be honest, you don’t look like yourself, dear,” the worried parent retorted.

“Oh? What do I look like then?” Angela pushed her mother. It was almost like a forceful shove. Clarissa refused to budge. “Everything is fine, didn’t I tell you that already?”

“Yes, you did, more times than I can remember. You’re sounding like a broken record, Angie.”

“Broken records still play music... please move!” the hypnotized hypnotist said without thinking.


Angela’s vacant smile became a mask of unrestrained fury as she kicked the sexagenarian forward.

“Oh, please!” Gail intervened, the audible sound of a painful face palm traversing the room. “Angela, is that your idea of a distraction? You really suck at this, God damn it!”

“Gail, what is going on around here?”

“Hey Clarissa,” the secretary emerged from her hiding place, syringe in hand. “We’ve been having a lot of fun and it’s about time you join in.”

“Fun, huh? Angela looks like a drooling zombie and that thing you’re holding spells anything but good news. Whatever your definition of entertainment is, I want no part in it. What have you done to her? And where’s my son?”

“Jonah is right here,” Gail snapped her fingers. The experienced athlete crawled behind his owner, a brown pig mask covering most of his features. “I took good care of him like I did with your daughter.”

“Move, mother!” Angela insisted with yet another kick, the time for feigned delicacy long gone. Clarissa slapped her on the double, red hand print immediately visible on her tender cheeks.

“Will you snap out of it already?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Clarissa, but I will if I have to,” Gail threatened. “Or rather, he will.” Jonah stood up at her behest, animal rage clouding his spirit. Mama Barnes found herself trapped in the middle of her two brainwashed descendants and spat.

“Fuck you, Gail! Are you familiar with the expression ‘Hell hath no fury...’?”

“Spare me the lesson, you old woman. I’m looking for a new toy to play with. You resisted my advances before, but you’ll find yourself more willing to comply today, I’m sure.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Clarissa continued to distract her. “Hell hath no fury is an interpretation of a line written by William Congreve for the play ‘The Mourning Bride’. I played the role of Zara in a rendition of it when my TV show was still on. The full quote is ‘Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d.’ but I dare say there’s something even worse.”

“Fine, I’ll bite. And that thing is...?”

“The fury of a pissed mother, you skank, and you can bet your sorry ass I’m pissed right now.” She turned to her entranced daughter. “Angela, please forgive me.”

“For what?”

“For this.”

Angela didn’t see the wrinkled fist until it was already on her face. The punch was unorthodox, transitioning from a jab to a full-blown uppercut midway through. The hypnotherapist flinched, eyes rolling backwards, and fell hard on the floor before realizing what had happened.

“Get her!” Gail shouted.

Jonah rushed at his mother, pig now acting like an angry bull. His protruded arms served as horns, looking for a painful tackle. Clarissa guessed his intentions and leaned against the right side of the corridor. Jonah’s furious fingers brushed the trench coat, failing to grab it. He lost balance, and she gained a chance to fight back.

“Forgive me for this too,” Clarissa said, raising her left foot to meet his chin. At the angle she was in, the blow wasn’t strong enough to knock him out, but gave her the leverage to escape the confined space. Jonah stopped, executed an abrupt 180-degree turn and lunged again, teeth clenched, anger erupting from his pores like lava from an active volcano.

Clarissa dodged a second time, luck favoring the bold. Right palm facing forward, she hit her confused son in the nose. He stumbled, eyes defocused as she continued the assault with a potent kick in the one place men’s tolerance to pain is at its lowest. He let out a harrowing shriek, balls on fire, and collapsed on top of his sister’s body.

Gail watched the whole scene in utter shock. Her lack of response saved the older woman, whose back had been left exposed. When she finally acted, brandishing the syringe like a knife, Clarissa was on the move again, taking refuge behind a pair of vintage chairs.

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Gail said.

“You’re about to find out just what else I have in store,” Clarissa retorted. She grabbed one of the chairs and propelled it against the secretary. The younger woman sidestepped as the wooden utensil crashed against the bookshelf behind her.

“Get up, slave! Your Goddess needs you!” She beckoned Jonah.

“He’s not your slave!” Clarissa screamed, leaving the sanctity of her refuge to engage in another full frontal offensive. She made another chair slid in her path and dashed in Gail’s direction. The unexpected trajectory made the dominatrix cower. Clarissa hit her with an elbow blow and the syringe rolled out of sight. Gail looked up and saw the resourceful actress already jumping at her, both fists exploding before her eyes.

“NO!” Jonah screamed in agony but it was already too late. His hypnotic goddess hit the ground, her face a bloody mess. The moment she passed out, his trance state fluctuated and shattered. Bewildered, he gazed at his naked body and exclaimed:

“What the fuck?”