The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Celeste Kerrigan sat down nervously in the overstuffed chair.

“What’s the matter, Ms. Kerrigan?” The white-coated man behind the desk in front of her sounded concerned.

“I, I,” Celeste stammered, “it’s just that I’m not really sure about this, Doctor”—she spotted the name plaque atop the desk and went on, “Dr. Peters.” She flushed. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Volunteered as a product tester, you mean?” Dr. Albert Peters smiled. “You shouldn’t let that worry you. We won’t be asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. Our company, Neodyne, is simply testing a new cosmetic product, which we call Aphrodex.”

“Er, yes,” Celeste got out. “But I don’t really understand why you’d want me, anyway.” She gestured at herself. “I mean, it’s not like I’m ugly or anything, but don’t you usually try this stuff out on fashion models instead of regular women?”

Dr. Peters laughed. “Don’t be silly. Those women don’t need to try out new beauty products; they generally have a set they’re perfectly happy with, and don’t want to risk looking less than their best by trying something unfamiliar.” He clasped his hands together under his chin, resting his elbows on the desktop, and gazed intently at Celeste. “Besides, you underrate yourself.”

The blonde felt her face burn hotter with embarrassment. Doctors didn’t usually look at her like that. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. . . .

Peters mentally kicked himself. He didn’t want to come on too strong; he’d scare her away, and the preliminary testing had indicated she’d be an excellent subject.

“Let me explain a little more about our product,” he said. “It’s an ointment, a mixture of purely natural substances, oils and so forth, designed to stimulate the body’s own mechanisms to promote better circulation, better skin tone and so on.” He smiled suddenly, as if at some private thought.

“I don’t know,” Celeste said. “It doesn’t sound like something that would work. I mean, a pill maybe, but a skin ointment?”

“Well,” replied the doctor, “that’s what we’re trying to find out.”

There was a small toy metronome on Dr. Peters’ desk, a set of metal balls hanging from a rectangular frame set into a flat base. Idly, the doctor flicked the leftmost ball to the right, making it collide with the next, which hit the next, until the entire set was swinging, right, left, right, left. Small flashes of light from the office’s overhead light fixtures reflected off the moving balls into Celeste’s eyes.

“What you need to understand,” the doctor expanded, “is that you belong to one of two groups of test subjects. One group will receive the actual product, while the other will get a dummy we’ve prepared to resemble the real thing. That way, we can tell whether the ointment’s actually working or not.”

“I see,” responded Celeste. She had to struggle to focus on the doctor’s words; her attention kept wandering to the metal balls which swung back and forth with a steady, clockwork-like ticking sound. “And which group . . . am I in?”

“Ah, that’s the point,” Dr. Peters explained. “You’re not supposed to know. I’m not supposed to know, until after the testing’s over. It’s called a ‘double-blind’ test, and it’s supposed to keep experimenters and their subjects from rigging things, either deliberately or unconsciously.”

“Unconsciously,” mumbled Celeste. Her eyes followed the balls as they kept swinging and clicking, swinging and clicking. It was hard to think about anything else. “Don’t . . . I don’t . . . un’erstan’.”

Dr. Peters inspected the woman seated across from him and smiled. He launched into a droning, detailed explanation of unconscious experimental bias, slightly raising his voice each time he used the word “unconscious” or any of its synonyms. After several minutes, he stopped talking, reached out and stilled the ticking metronome on his desk. Then he addressed Celeste, who now sat slumped in her chair, eyes still flicking back and forth behind nearly closed lids. “Celeste, can you hear me?” He didn’t bother calling her “Ms. Kerrigan” now. There was no need. “Say ‘Yes, Doctor’ if you can hear me.”

“Yes, Doctor.” It was a soft, submissive murmur.

“You trust me, Celeste.” It was not a question. “You trust me completely. You understand that everything I do, everything I tell you to do, is to help you. Say ‘Yes, Doctor’ if these things are true.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Very good, Celeste. Now listen carefully. This is what you need to do, what you will do because your doctor tells you to do it. . . .”

Presently Dr. Peters was finished. It was time to end this session and send Ms. Kerrigan home.

“Listen to me, Celeste,” he instructed her. “Listen carefully.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Celeste’s eyes were still nearly closed, their lashes trembling.

“I need you to repeat for me the instructions I’ve given you. Repeat your instructions now, Celeste, repeat the instructions you will follow when you leave here.”

Celeste obeyed, echoing the orders Dr. Peters had dinned into her after she’d slid helplessly into trance watching the swinging, clicking balls of the metronome.

“Very good, Celeste,” the doctor said when she finished. “You will do these things because your doctor tells you to and you trust your doctor. That’s right, isn’t it, Celeste.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Peters picked up the metronome he’d used to put Celeste under and put it back in its drawer. “I’m going to count to three now, Celeste. When I reach three, you will be fully awake and alert and will feel relaxed and happy, and you will remember only that we discussed your participation in our product test and that your misgivings are completely gone. Do you understand, Celeste?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Excellent, Celeste. One; you are beginning to awaken.”

The blonde’s eyes opened slightly wider.

“Two. You are becoming aware of your surroundings.”

Celeste blinked. Her eyes began to focus.

“Three.”

Celeste blinked again and straightened in her chair.

“I hope I’ve answered your questions, Ms. Kerrigan,” Dr. Peters said.

“Yes, Doctor,” responded Celeste, smiling.

“Then you’ll go ahead and work with us?” Peters smiled back.

“Yes, Doctor,” Celeste repeated, nodding. “Of course I will.”

“I’m glad we had this little chat, then,” Peters told her. He reached into another drawer of his desk and pulled out a cloth shopping bag. “Here is your initial supply of our test product. Ms. Kerrigan. Just apply it like suntan oil, following the directions on the containers.”

“Of course, Doctor,” said Celeste. “Thank you.” She stood up, took the bag and hung it over her shoulder by its handles, then picked up her purse and turned to go. Dr. Peters opened the office door for her and ushered her out.

Dr. Peters sat back down at his desk, propped his elbows on its polished surface and rested his chin once more on his clasped hands. He smiled.

He hadn’t been honest with Ms. Kerrigan. He knew perfectly well what she had been given. The important point was simply that she didn’t know.

Celeste stood naked in her bathroom’s shower stall. The directions on the little tubes of ointment she’d been given said to simply rub it in, all over, like suntan lotion, and let it sink into her skin. She’d tried it out soon after returning home.

It had felt cool as she’d slathered it onto her skin. After a few minutes, though, a warmth had spread through her, a warmth and a tingling which made her breathe rapidly. Sweat had popped out on her forehead. As the sensations built, she’d gripped the shower rail and arched her back, biting back a moan of pleasure. Her head tilted back, and she closed her eyes, shivering with ecstasy. Behind her clenched eyelids, visions of herself danced—visions of herself as some men’s magazine artist might have drawn her, her smoothly pretty face turned lewdly beautiful, her body improved, idealized, her hair cascading down her back in wheat-colored waves, visions of this version of herself dancing naked except for G-string and glossy high heels.

There came an explosion of light, sound and feeling, and she sagged, gasping. It was a minute or two before she could collect herself enough to stand up straight.

What just happened? she asked herself woozily when coherent thought was possible again. It felt like I—I came, right there. But why?

One hand came up to brush away a strand of hair dangling over her face. Her fingers brushed her forehead, which felt slick—not just sweaty, but faintly oily. And the thought came: Could it be . . . ?

No, she decided, that was ridiculous. All the same, she turned on the shower and scrubbed vigorously under its spray until her skin felt clean. At last she shut off the water and stepped out. Wrapping herself in the robe hung on the door, she left the bathroom and went to lie down.

Later, as she rested comfortably on her bed, eyes closed, she told herself again that it was silly to blame that ointment for what had happened to her. And besides, came a wicked whisper of thought, even if it had, what had it hurt?

She was smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

Celeste kept following the instructions she’d been given for using the Aphrodex lotion. Each time, she had the same ecstatic experience. Each time, afterward, she felt the same stab of guilt and alarm—but each time, that sensation was weaker.

And little by little, she seemed to be changing. Her comfortable clothes no longer seemed to appeal to her. They looked dowdy instead. They somehow didn’t even seem to fit properly anymore. She found herself buying new clothes: shorter skirts, tighter tops, higher heels. She started wearing more makeup.

People began to notice, guys especially. Men followed her with their eyes now in a way they never had before. It felt good. And when one of them whistled at her, instead of feeling annoyed as she once might have, she felt a jolt of pleasure.

After a while, she couldn’t kid herself anymore: the Aphrodex was really doing something to her. Not only did she look better, she seemed to be turning into a whole different person. Even her face and body seemed to be changing, becoming more like the images of herself which pranced through her mind when she had the Aphrodex cream on. At first, she’d thought it was imaginary—but it wasn’t.

She was supposed to go back to see Dr. Peters again after six weeks of using the stuff, to report on how it was working. Of course, if she was in the—what had the doctor called it? the control group, that was it—it shouldn’t be doing anything. Celeste laughed at the thought. She was pretty sure she knew what group she was in.

Dr. Peters’ voice was calm as he addressed the woman seated across from him, but his eyes gleamed. “How have things been going with you, Celeste?”

“Just fine, Doctor,” the blonde replied. Her hands came up to cup her bosom, which strained at the fabric of the tight, low-cut blouse she was wearing. “I feel great!”

Peters smiled. “Then you feel the lotion is helping? It’s working for you?”

“Oh, yes, Doctor,” purred Celeste. “It’s working, all right.”

“Any side effects?” Now Peters sounded professionally concerned.

Celeste hesitated. How could she tell the doctor what seemed to be happening to her? She could hardly believe it herself.

The doctor frowned slightly and flicked a finger against the ornament on his desk, causing the leftmost of the shiny metal balls hanging from its frame to swing against its neighbor, which then swung to hit the next, until all the balls were moving rhythmically back and forth, sending off flashes of reflected light. “Please, Ms. Kerrigan,” he urged. “If there are any unusual effects from using our product, it’s better we find out right away. That’s part of what this study is about, you know. You did understand that, Ms. Kerrigan, when you signed your release back at the beginning, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Doctor.” It was true. The forms Celeste had signed to register for the product test had included a release which had mentioned the possibility of side effects. She just hadn’t taken it seriously.

“Then just relax and tell me all about it,” instructed Dr. Peters. “I notice you’re watching my metronome, watching its hanging spheres sway back and forth, watching as the light bounces off them, listening to the sound they make as they move back and forth, back and forth. I find it very relaxing to watch. Just keep on watching the moving balls, watching them and listening to the sound they make as they move, keep on watching and listening, and relax, and keep on watching and listening, and relax, and tell me all about it, and relax, and watch, and listen, and tell your doctor, because he is your doctor and you must do as your doctor tells you. . . .”

Peters’ words seemed to merge with the regular motion and clicking of the shiny balls. It was very relaxing, Celeste thought. No need to worry. No need to pay attention to anything else. She was vaguely aware of a woman’s voice, a familiar voice, saying things, but it didn’t matter. Presently her eyes closed, but she could still see the shiny balls moving back and forth, back and forth.

Peters rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. Ms. Kerrigan had slipped into trance even more easily this time. And what she’d told him after doing so indicated that the experiment was working perfectly.

But of course, mere verbal testimony wasn’t enough. There were objective measurements to be taken.

“Celeste,” he said, “open your eyes. Open your eyes and stand up, please.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Celeste Kerrigan’s eyes opened, wide and empty. She got to her feet and stood, arms dangling, beside her chair.

“Now Celeste,” the doctor continued, “I need you to help me with something. It’s important, Celeste. Will you help me by doing exactly as I say?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Celeste smiled. “Exactly as you say.”

“Good girl.” Dr. Peters went to a cabinet along one wall. The items he needed were inside.

“I need you to put these on,” he said when he returned. “Take off your clothes and put these on, please, Celeste.”

Celeste’s eyes widened. The doctor was holding a tiny pair of panties and a pair of glossy spike-heeled shoes, almost exactly what she saw herself wearing while in the throes of Aphrodex ecstasy. “Oooo, yes, Doctor,” she cooed, and reached for the garments eagerly. In her mind, she was back in her private fantasy.

Watching her peel out of her street clothes, Albert Peters smirked. It was no coincidence that he’d happened to have the panties and fuck-me shoes on hand. The orgasmic fantasies she’d admitted to were an expected part of the experiment’s effects on its subjects, although, obviously, they weren’t to know that. And now that she’d been softened up by several weeks of such experiences, it was easy to get her into character even without the lotion.

The key, of course, had been her initial session with him. He’d planted the seeds then, and each time she’d used the Aphrodex, the pleasure her body had given her had made them grow.

“I’m ready, Doctor,” giggled Celeste.

Grinning, Peters addressed her. “Good girl, Celeste. Now raise your arms over your head and breathe deeply, that’s it, deeeeeply, now just hold that pose.”

Celeste obeyed, and the doctor produced a tape measure. While the befuddled blonde babe stood motionless, he took a series of measurements, starting at the hips and working his way up. He took his time, especially when he reached her bosom. He wrote each result down carefully, nodding.

“You can put your arms down and relax, Celeste,” he said at last. She obeyed, letting her arms fall to her sides and drawing a fresh breath.

“Now Celeste,” the researcher went on, “I’m going to take some pictures. I want you to relax while I take the pictures, relax and don’t let the camera’s flash disturb you, just let your doctor take the pictures he needs.”

“Yes, Doctor,” murmured Celeste. She sighed happily. She felt so relaxed.

Dr. Peters produced a camera and took a series of pictures of Celeste, mostly of her face. The camera was digital; its images would be uploaded into Neodyne’s database and compared, pixel by pixel, with the images taken during the medical examination she had undergone when she’d first enrolled in the testing program. At this point, the doctor had little doubt what the analysis would reveal.

He ran through the prescribed set of shots of his subject and started to put the camera away. A thought came to him, and he hesitated, camera in hand.

His grin broadened. Well, why not? he asked himself. It won’t hurt anything. In fact, it should even reinforce her conditioning.

Peters spoke. “Celeste, you’ve told me about the fantasies you have when you’re in the shower, when you’re using our lotion.” He paused.

“Yes, Doctor,” the blonde murmured, blushing slightly.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” urged Dr. Peters. “You don’t need to be embarrassed when you’re with me, Celeste. Everything you tell me, everything you do here, is all right, because I’m your doctor and I’d never tell anyone else, I’d never do anything to hurt you, you know that, Celeste.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Meekly, the red fading from the beautiful blonde’s cheeks. “I know that.”

“That’s good, Celeste. It’s important that you understand this, very important that you understand that you can trust me completely, tell me anything, do anything I tell you to do.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Good girl, Celeste.” Peters grinned again. “Now I want you to put yourself into the fantasy you’ve told me about. Make it real for yourself, and act it out. You’re dressed for it, you’re ready, you are the woman you imagine in your fantasy.” He hesitated, marshaling the words he’d need to inject himself into the blonde’s imaginary world. “You’re doing a photo shoot, a sexy glamor shoot. I’m your photographer, Mr. Peters. Do you understand, Celeste?” He raised the camera again. These pictures wouldn’t be going into the official records.

The girl giggled. “Sure thing, Mr. Peters.” Instantly, in her mind, the scene changed. The man in front of her was no longer her doctor, had never been her doctor. He was her photo guy, and he was here to take sexy pictures of her.

Somewhere deep in her mind, there remained an awareness that this was fantasy. That awareness, however, faded by the second until it was lost completely

Laughing, Celeste bent over her chair from behind, gripping it with both long-fingernailed hands, spreading her legs and arching her back. “How’s this, Mr. Peters?”

“Gnngh,“ Dr. Peters groaned. Suddenly he was fully erect and hard as a rock. “Great!” He drew a shaky breath and started snapping away. “Now make love to the chair, Celeste baby, show me what you’ve got!”

And Celeste did, rubbing herself against the chair back and then coming around to slither wantonly into it. Each flash of the camera signaled her mesmerized mind that it was time for a new pose, and with each move, she made sure to check out Peters, to see how her photographer, her audience, was reacting. It turned her on to see how excited he was getting.

Peters stopped for a moment. His mind was whirling; he was dreadfully aroused. He felt himself carried along by the tide of lust the naked beauty in front of him was producing.

“All right, Celeste,” he went on. He resumed his seat behind the desk. “Now I want you to listen carefully.” He put the camera away. “Your photographer—that’s me, remember?—your photographer has connections. He can get you into movies, magazines, even TV. You’d do anything for that, wouldn’t you?”

Celeste giggled again. Buried in her new role, she cooed, “Yes, sir, Mr. Peters. I’d do anything. . . .” Without further prompting, she oozed out of her chair and poured herself across the polished surface of the desktop, flowing into Peters’ lap. One arm snaked around his neck; her other hand went to his shirt, the fingers playing with its buttons. ”Anything. . . .”

Peters couldn’t help himself. He moaned. His hands came up, pulling the bedazzled blonde to him. Their lips met.

“Why don’t you help me out of these hot clothes,” he gasped when Celeste finally let him come up for air. It was a struggle to think clearly enough to stay in character. “Remember, if you help your photographer, if you help me, I can”—his voice faltered as warm feminine fingers began opening his shirt, “h-help . . . you.”

“Why thank you, kind sir,” burbled the babe on his lap. She undulated against him while continuing her assault on his shirt buttons.

As the hypnotized honey on Peters’ lap opened his shirt and began running her hand over the flesh beneath, the doctor moaned deliriously. “That’s right, baby,” he babbled, “persuade me. Persuade me—you know what to do. . . .”

He never quite remembered, afterward, how the two of them ended up on the plush carpeted floor, or how the rest of his clothes came off. The next thing he knew, he was pumping away into Celeste’s lush breasts. After that, he came between her legs as well. Both times, his groans of pleasure were mirrored by her shrieks of mindless joy.

Spent, he two of them lay together, sweaty flesh cooling in the aftermath. At length, Dr. Peters roused himself.

Propping himself on one elbow, he addressed the woman lying blissfully beneath him. “Celeste,” he said, “can you hear me?”

The blonde’s eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes turned toward his voice, slowly, slowly, as if focusing on him was as much as her mind could manage. “Yes, Mr. Peters,” she said sleepily.

“Listen carefully,” he responded. “I’m not ‘Mr. Peters’ anymore. You’re coming out of that fantasy now, you’ve enjoyed yourself and you’re coming back. You remember that I’m really Doctor Peters, your doctor, whom you trust and obey without question.”

“Yes, Doc-tor Peters,” the blonde answered softly.

“That’s right, Celeste,” Peters told her. “Now I’m going to get up, Celeste, I’m going to get up and get dressed and sit down in my seat. I want you to do the same, Celeste, get up, get dressed and sit down in your chair.”

“Yes, Dr. Peters.” Celeste sighed sleepily.

Albert Peters disentangled himself from Celeste Kerrigan’s clinging limbs and climbed to his feet. He collected his clothes from where they lay scattered on the carpet, the chair and the top of his desk, and put them on. He tidied up where the two of them had thrashed around, setting the papers which had been flung off his desk back in order and picking up the metronome from the floor. He put the little ornament away carefully and sat down behind the desk. As he did, he saw Celeste, now also on her feet, fastening her bra; she was almost completely reclothed, and as he watched, she put her blouse on as well. With a final quick fluff of her hair, she seated herself again in the chair she’d occupied before.

Peters steepled his fingers on the desk in front of him and addressed the blank-minded blonde. “You’re coming along very nicely, Celeste. Your participation in our product test is proving very helpful. And you want to be helpful, don’t you, Celeste?”

“Yes, Dr. Peters.” Celeste wore a dreamy expression as she answered. “I want . . . to be helpful.”

“You want to be helpful,” Peters drove the point home, “because you’re a helpful person, which is why you agreed to join our little study in the first place, and because I’m your doctor, whom you trust completely and obey without question.”

“Yes, Dr. Peters.” Celeste nodded, ever so slowly.

“And you also want to be helpful, and to do what your doctor tells you, because if you do, you’ll be rewarded. If you obey, there will be pleasure. You understand that, don’t you, Celeste.”

“Yes, Dr. Peters.” Another slow nod, and a giggle. “If I obey . . . there will be”—Celeste’s hands came up, caressing her bosom—“p-p-pleasure.“ The final word was a helpless moan.

“Good girl, Celeste,” Peters said. “Now we’re almost finished here, Celeste, almost ready for you to go home and continue your regular life and your testing of our product Aphrodex.” He paused.

Celeste nodded a third time and smiled. “Almost ready. Yes, Dr. Peters.”

The doctor nodded back and sat quietly for a few moments, thinking. Everything had gone perfectly. He chuckled—better than perfectly; not only had everything worked out just as it was supposed to as far as the testing protocol was concerned, he’d been able to take a bonus for himself. His employers needn’t know that, of course.

He looked over at Celeste, who lolled in her chair with her eyes blank. She was quite visibly changed from the woman he’d seen on her first visit. Her breasts had swelled by a full cup size, her hips had broadened, her waist narrowed. The planes of her face had shifted subtly, giving it an almost doll-like quality when relaxed, as it was now. And there had been subtle alterations to her personality, too, matching the physical alterations. What she’d told him at the start of this session indicated that her libido was growing and her inhibitions withering just as the experimenters had hoped, and the clothing and makeup she’d worn this time provided further proof.

But the experiment wasn’t over yet. It was time to send his playmate and guinea pig on her way.

“Celeste,” Peters said softly, “it’s time to go home. I’m going to count to three now, the way I did the last time you were here. And just like last time, Celeste, when I reach three, you will wake up, relaxed and refreshed. You will wake up relaxed and refreshed, and remember only that you came in and reported to me about how our product Aphrodex has been working for you. Do you understand, Celeste, and will you do as I’ve told you to do?”

“Yes, Dr. Peters,” murmured the blonde. “I understand. I’ll do as . . . you’ve told me to do.”

“That’s right,” said Dr. Peters. “And why will you do this?”

“Because you’re my doctor and I trust you . . . completely.” The answer he’d programmed into her last time fell from her lips.

“And why do you trust me completely?”

“Because everything you do . . . everything you tell me to do . . . is to help me.”

“Just right, Celeste.” Peters beamed. “Now listen carefully.” He counted up to three, guiding the entranced female across from him back toward waking awareness.

Celeste blinked. Startled, she looked at the clock on the wall. “Goodness,” she exclaimed. “Where has the time gone? I must have just been babbling on. I apologize, Doctor.”

Peters laughed gently. “Don’t worry about it, Ms. Kerrigan. Just go on home. You’re doing fine. Just see the receptionist and set up our next appointment, for six weeks from now. We’ll see how things are going then.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Celeste stood up. Dr. Peters got up as well, went to the office door and opened it for her. She went on out, wiggling her behind just a little as she did.

Alone in his office, Dr. Peters smirked. Celeste still didn’t suspect what was really happening. She still believed she was merely participating in an innocent commercial research study.

Soon enough, he’d be able to tell her the truth. By then, she wouldn’t care.