The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lisa’s normal willingness to do anything sexually exciting for me made it extremely easy to turn her into a hypno-sex toy. While she was an excellent hypnotic subject, I quickly found that she had little or no resistance to any of my suggestions. It’s been said that you can’t make somebody do something under hypnosis that they don’t want to do; in her waking state, Lisa wanted to do anything for me, so I essentially had no such restriction.

Why did I need to hypnotize a woman who, by any account, was an extremely compliant and eager lover on her own? Because it made my dick hard—more than her evolving smoking style, and even more than her private, elegant smoking displays for me. Her arms would rise slowly while Lisa softly repeated her self-deepening enslavement script, and so did my cock. When her arms would reach her shoulder level, she would slowly, dreamily, stand with her arms locked in place. Then her eyes would open, vacant and unseeing, and Lisa would declare, “I... am... hypnotized. You are... my master. I hear and obey only you. I... must... obey,” in a faraway monotone, the sound of every hypno-fetishist’s dreams. By then, my cock would be just as stiff and rigid as her outstretched arms. I hypnotized Lisa a lot those first few weeks. Part of it was fetish-driven excitement, part was “new toy” syndrome, and part was setting her up for the long term. No longer was she just a walking fetish-fulfillment object to me: I had developed very strong feelings for her beyond being her “rescuer.” Given how completely under Lisa went for me, I reasoned that if she was going to give me the keys, then I would have to commit to taking care of the car, so I proposed exactly fourteen months to the day she sang to me in Mario’s Den. Her mother was probably more excited than Lisa was, confiding that she had never seen her daughter so “stable and happy. You have no idea how good it feels to know that Lisa is truly safe with someone who cares for her, and isn’t just taking advantage of her condition.” Although I was taking advantage of it, I had also promised myself to do no harm, and as difficult as it was, I reserved hypnosis solely for our sex games.

“Lisa, look at the swinging watch,” I said to my fiancée as she sat on our couch. I had made her forget that I had ever hypnotized her or that she had ever embraced my kink. It made it more real in the moment. She would always try to resist going into trance for the watch or a crystal, but I had stripped her ability to fight it successfully. If I wanted Lisa to go into hypnotic trance, she would go into hypnotic trance.

She giggled, “What are you trying to do, hypnotize me? You know that stuff is fake!” she responded, giving a mock huff. “I’ll prove it to you.” Lisa focused on the watch, unaware that we’d done this before. As always, she went into trance within a couple of minutes and proceeded to take herself incredibly deep with minimal or no prompting, allowing me to give her post-hypnotic suggestions that she would dutifully execute. Tonight, I wanted Lisa as the seductive femme fatale, so I gave her a post-hypnotic command to smoke Mores in the solid gold cigarette holder she’d found at an estate sale. Other times, she would be a spoiled brat heiress flamboyantly smoking Fantasia 164s and teasing me mercilessly, but getting so horny from it that she just had to seduce me. I became adept at setting Lisa to go off like a time bomb, making her act just like I wanted anywhere from a few hours to a few days after I’d given her her post-hypnotic marching orders.

And then there was always, “Lisa, sleep for me.” Her eyes would struggle to stay open, but after ten seconds or so, they would close, her head would slowly drop to her chest, and she would say, “Yes, master. I hear and obey.” I liked to do that so I could quickly adjust her behavior. If we were with her family, I would make her as normal as possible. If we were going out to see a band, I could pick the brand of cigarettes she would smoke, or make her use a holder for the night and not feel self-conscious. I could even alter her smoking style, and have her french- or snap-inhale with every drag, or consistently perform big, showy, open-mouth inhales. It was also useful for getting her to throat me—Lisa’s gag reflex is very strong, and the only way to override it is to put her in trance. Once I made the mistake of suggesting that her clit was in her throat, like the Linda Lovelace character from the movie “Deep Throat”. The resulting frenzied effort made me cum within two minutes. I hadn’t expected her to do much else in such a deep trance, but she used my smoking fetish to keep me distracted and make me hard again, whereupon she took me into her throat again, cumming twice from giving me head. Before I could bring her out of it, Lisa lit a More 120 and began masturbating me to semi-hardness. She put it out and swallowed me yet again. Her last throat-induced orgasm left her watery-legged and dazed, and only then was I able to undo my own mischief. I haven’t ever given her that command since.

After a few months, I had Lisa completely bound to my will with the swing of a watch, the spin of a crystal, or simply the turn of a phrase.

“Nicole, I think it’s time you stopped using us as subjects for your hypnosis practicum. Bring your mother out of trance,” I authoritatively told my daughter.

“Right now,” she began, “as far as she knows, she’s not my mother. She wouldn’t tell me what to do even if she was conscious because she doesn’t perceive me as her daughter. When I put her in trance, I am her mistress.” Before I could respond, Nicole softly commanded, “Mistress wants to have a cigarette. Bring me the Capris and a holder.”

My wife’s enthralled, “Yes... mistress. I must obey,” sent a surge of blood to my cock in spite of our daughter’s presence. I could feel anger and parental authority slowly oozing forward from somewhere deep in my mind, fighting against the relaxed state that left me calm in spite of the situation.

“Just relax, Daddy,” Nicole cooed. “Mommy’s very, very sexy, and you’ve always enjoyed her when she’s like that. Sit down, and let me give her to you like that.” At the realization that I was standing, my legs suddenly grew heavy, and I sat back down while my anger receded, replaced by anticipatory lust. I watched Nicole place a Capri 120 menthol into a cigarette holder and wait for Lisa to light her cigarette. At Nicole’s first exhale, my wife immediately focused on our slender, beautiful daughter. “Thank you, my slave,” she regally replied. Lisa immediately had a flash orgasm. “Amazing what you can do with Pavlovian training,” Nicole commented with a hint of amusement. She took a long, slow draw from the holder and french-inhaled smoothly, naturally, just like her mother. I opened my mouth, but the protest I knew I should make seemed... unimportant, so nothing came out. “Oh good,” she said, “your conditioning is still holding. You like to watch women smoke like this, don’t you, Daddy?” I nodded slowly while she continued, “You like it so much that Mommy learned just for you, and she taught me.” Her next exhale was a flowing thing of beauty, smoke following her as she casually paced around the room. My daughter stopped and regarded me, resting her right elbow lightly in her left palm, with the cigarette holder perpendicular to the floor between the first two fingers of her right hand, limply cocked at the wrist so that it was parallel with the ground. “I think it’s time to see if you approve of how well I’ve learned such an important lesson.”

She approached me, reached out, and touched my forehead with the tip of her holder. I moaned as my already-tattered restraint failed completely and my cock swelled. “Zombie mommy time,” sang my mistress, and Lisa’s arms shot to her shoulders, outstretched.

“I hear and I obey,” she responded, blankly. More blood flowed.

“Zombie mommy, I want you to relieve Daddy’s tension. I want to watch you take his gorgeous cock in your mouth and down all the way into your throat. But only on my command,” Mistress excitedly hissed.

“Yes... mistress... I obey,” Lisa breathed in an entranced monotone, and led by her arms, she slowly walked to me. Her arms dropped, she knelt, carefully pulled my tented pants down to my ankles—and froze, eyes vacant.

“Daddy,” Mistress whispered. I looked away from my wife to see Mistress take another long, deep drag, pulling so hard on the holder that smoke jetted from her nose three-quarters of the way through. She lifted her chin in the most sensual, elegant manner, pursed her lips, and exhaled through her mouth and nose. I groaned. She did it once more and my hips bucked involuntarily. “Did I get it right?”

“Yes,” I moaned in the throes of my fetish, “Mistress.” She was an unbelievably sexy smoker. My dick stood straight and hard.

Mistress let a genuinely pleased squeak of accomplishment escape, and said, “Take him now, zombie mommy.” She dragged again, a picture of affluent elegance from the past, and my dick jerked to its fullest size.

“Yes... mistress... I must... obey,” rejoined Lisa, and my wife engulfed my rock-hard erection, taking me into her throat. I felt my head turn away from Mistress, and fixed my attentions solely on Lisa, her face buried in my groin. Moaning loudly with ecstasy as my wife thrilled me with her deep throat from the depths of hypnotic trance, my excitement was enhanced by the sound of other sexually charged moaning in the room. Although my eyes were fixed on my beautiful, hypnotized Lisa and I could not move my head to see the source, my heart raced at the sounds of wet, urgent masturbation joining the ecstatic chorus.

I took out my father’s pocket watch as the limo left our wedding ceremony for the trip to the reception. While I accepted that the day was all about her (and her mother), I was going to get a little something for myself, too. First, I handed her a box, saying, “This is a little something for you from me on our wedding day.”

“Ohhh, it’s beautiful!” Lisa exclaimed when she saw the almost nine-inch long, elaborately carved, ivory cigarette holder. I had found it at an estate sale, and according to the seller, the holder had originally been purchased in 1951. Miraculously, it had never been used, but apparently had held some symbolic significance to the owner. “But I think I wanna be... normal tonight,” Lisa said, quickly adding, “At least until we get to the honeymoon suite,” with a lewd purr, letting me know that she hadn’t forgotten about me. Her stated consideration for my smoking fetish in the night’s events was sweet—but I had other ideas for the time in between. Raising the watch in front of her eyes, I began to swing it. “Are you trying to hypnotize me into smoking with the holder?” she grinned. “Honestly, can’t you just wait for a few hours?” I just grinned back, knowing how it would end. “I’ll play along and look at the watch,” Lisa said, “but you know it doesn’t work.” A minute later, she snickered, “Arm getting tired yet?” Thirty seconds after that, her eyes began to blink, her mouth hung open, and I whispered, “Sleep and obey,” to put her all the way under. Lisa collapsed into the plush seat with a soft sigh, her body completely limp.

“Going deeper for your master,” I quietly said, “going quickly into your happy and obedient place.”

“Yessss... massss-terrrr,” she sighed.

“You are the beautiful bride, the star of the show, the center of attention. You will relish this attention, and do everything you can to garner it,” I softly said. “This is the perfect time to display your most elegant, glamorous, exceptional smoking. The distinctive ivory holder, the super-long pastel cigarettes, along with the nobility and class demonstrated in each puff, exhale, and the way you hold your cigarette in between are all a part of that. Therefore, only Fantasia 164s and the holder will achieve the effect you want to portray. Do you understand?”

“Yes... master. I... understand... and obey,” my wife of twenty minutes breathed.

“In addition, you will forget how your elegant smoking affects me until we get to the honeymoon suite. You are smoking elegantly because you are the bride, the center of attention, and that is all that matters. Do you understand?”

“Yes... master. I... understand... and obey,” Lisa repeated in the monotone that sent blood to my cock. I told her to forget that she’d been hypnotized, and only remember that we’d been talking about our dream house. Upon waking, Lisa lit an Eve 120 menthol and smoked without embellishment in much the same way as she had smoked before discovering my smoking fetish. “So what else do you want in the house other than a big basement and chef’s kitchen?” she asked. “I want a bedroom for each of our children.” As the limo pulled up to the reception, Lisa asked the driver to wait a moment. She put a gold-tipped, blue 164 into the ivory holder and grinned at me after telling me to bring both boxes of Fantasias that I’d planted in the limo. “I may want those at the reception,” she smiled. “Today, I get to be the diva, but don’t worry, I’m not going all snooty on you.” She gave me a kiss, lit her fifteen inches of smoke, and told the driver, ”Now I’m ready.“

She, the holder, and the Fantasias were an enormous hit at the reception. Lisa looked regal, handling her new cigarette holder with white opera-gloved style. She would hold the ivory holder from beneath while dragging on the Fantasia, effortlessly perform a flowing french-inhale, then raise her chin, purse her lips, wait, and only then would she exhale. I was happy that I’d had the foresight to bring two boxes of the quintessential ladies’ cigarette; all the bridesmaids and Lisa’s mother were smoking one within ten minutes of our arrival, as well as a half-dozen female guests. I was surrounded on the dais by eight women smoking 164s, and another seven walking around the reception. Even Lisa’s very, very, very cute, nonsmoking coworker, Diane, took one, happily chirping that she couldn’t be the only bridesmaid without “a fancy cigarette.” Every so often, Diane would exhale smoke in a fast, thin stream that looked suspiciously as if it was the result of a shallow inhale. She also handled her six-inch pink cigarette with enough familiarity that I wondered if she had once been a regular smoker. The spectacle primed me for the night to come. Lisa had a second Fantasia after dinner, purple this time, using the holder and looking dangerously hot in her hypnotically mandated elegance. It felt like the longest wedding reception ever, but we finally left the revelry for our private celebration.

“So, darling, are you ready for your honeymoon night?” purred Lisa while I was in the bathroom. “This is the only one you’re ever going to get.” My knees turned to jelly when I stepped back into the room. “I know what you like.” Lisa had her third Fantasia of the night in the nine-inch holder, and was stretched gaminely across the bed, naked. “Thank you for the new holder, Jack. I love it.” She drew on it, looking 1920s cheesecake with 1980s fuck-me in her eyes, before sending a smoke trail across the room. The spell I’d cast was over, but Lisa was working on one of her own. I may not have been hypnotized, but she had her own ways of enthralling me.

“Daddy, this is Dr. Gaston Chance.” I shook hands with the tall, distinguished-looking man, who, at thirty-eight, was frankly, a little older than I would have liked as my twenty-six year-old daughter’s first boyfriend. Nonetheless, this was Nicole’s life and she’d always been more mature than her age peers, so I kept my paternal instinct to protect her under control.

Gaston was supposed to meet both Lisa and I, but my wife, now an associate vice president, had been dispatched to Cleveland that afternoon for a work emergency, disappointing all of us, but there had been no way for Lisa to get out of it. “I’m pleased to meet you,” said Gaston. My daughter had gushed, uncharacteristically, over the well-respected physician and researcher. Maybe she’s just enthusiastic about finally meeting someone as smart as she is. “Nicole is a very special young woman. You and your wife must be very proud of her.” We were; she had joint faculty appointments in the Psychology departments at the university and its medical school, as well as a healthy part-time clinical practice at the medical school, all at only twenty-six. “In the short time that I’ve known her, she’s already gained a reputation for working wonders with the more difficult cases.” He looked at her with admiration—and as much as I didn’t want to see it, lust—as she started placing dinner on the table.

Gaston made a good first impression though, conducting himself as you would expect of a man with his education and professional accomplishment. Nicole clearly liked him: her eyes sparkled when he would speak, and she returned shy smiles at his compliments, seeming more—girlish—than she had ever been. Judging by the tone of conversation, Gaston was strongly interested in extending and deepening their three-month relationship—it was obvious that he appreciated her much more than as just another pretty face.

After dessert, Nicole appeared from the bedroom carrying a six-inch-long, gold cigarette holder with a ring of green stones about a quarter of the way from the top. “How do you like my new cigarette holder, Daddy? I found it on eBay, and Gaston bought it for me as a gift.” She perched on his left leg, back arched, the empty holder gaily held between her fingers and removed a brown Nat Sherman Hint of Mint cigarette from its green box. She ran a finger from his eyebrows to the tip of his nose. “Isn’t he sweet?”

Nicole didn’t know that I checked the cigarette holders for sale on eBay weekly, just in case I saw one that would look good in her mother’s hands, so I had to force myself not to react when I recognized hers. It was an antique from Tiffany’s, made from 14-karat gold with real emeralds, and it had set Gaston back almost twelve hundred dollars—one hell of a gift for someone he had only dated for three months. Not only was it an extravagant gesture, it was strange to see a medical professional actively promote smoking in this day and age. Gaston just grinned stupidly at my daughter’s happy comments and immediately lit her cigarette when it was ready without prompting. She took a long drag, pushing her breasts forward with her long, silent oral exhale, and he watched attentively without comment. Nicole french-inhaled her next long draw, holder lightly between her fingers. At times like this, she reminded me of a younger, slimmer, caramel-skinned version of her mother. Even though I knew that we had constantly discouraged all of our children from smoking, it was almost as if Lisa had carefully taught our daughter how to smoke in the same manner. Nicole had all the little alluring feminine gestures that attended her mother’s smoking, right down to the way she held her cigarette when relaxed. “Gaston,” she cooed, “it’s a shame you have to go work on that grant application tonight. I think you and my father have a lot in common and could talk for a while.”

His goofy, attentive look faded, replaced by one of unhappy obligation. “Jack, it’s been good to meet you,” Gaston said, standing. “Unfortunately, Nicole is correct. I do have some work to do tonight—I’m running behind on some data analyses for a grant I’m writing.” We shook hands and he departed after giving Nicole a kiss on the cheek.

“Daddy,” she whined after watching him drive away, “my cigarette went out.” With a chuckle, I told her that happened with Nat Sherman cigarettes, and she presented me with a lighter, pouting, “Capris and Mores don’t fit this holder.” I lit my daughter’s cigarette, and she exhaled forcefully into my face after an extended drag. “Mommy’s not home, and Kevin and Lynne aren’t expecting you back until very late, right?”

Her younger siblings were home from college on break, but each had plans of their own that night. “Yes... that’s... right,” I slowly replied, suddenly feeling as if my head was full of wool. She turned and swayed around the corner, beckoning me with a finger. I followed.

“Now, my darling father,” purred Mistress, reclining elegantly on her bed, dragging and french-inhaling on her solid gold cigarette holder, “come... talk with me.” Her free hand pointed between her legs, I sank to my knees, and lowered my face as she had commanded. After pulling her panties down, and being surrounded in a cloud of my mistress’ smoke, I began using my tongue as she desired.

Lisa and I had been married only a month, but it had been full of sex. Her libido surged mightily during the honeymoon. She chose to use a cigarette holder the entire week because it got her laid at least twice, usually three times, a day. No hypnosis was necessary. I’d never dreamed that I would find a woman who used a cigarette holder as if she had been a flapper in the 1920s. Lisa had absolutely no trace of self-consciousness about it, smoking Eves and Maxes (plus the occasional More Light 100) through her various holders in public all week. Whether looking hot in her bikini on the beach by day, or stunningly elegant at night in evening wear, she was a glamor smoking fetisher’s dream. Sexy and flirtatious without trying, she made men notice her, helped in large part by her incredibly hot way of standing with her holdered cigarette: resting lightly between her fingers at her side, wrist and hips cocked, back slightly arched, yet all of it casual and natural. Oddly, her sexy demeanor made women pay attention to me, since there was always at least a little bulge in my trunks around her. She was so... dazzling, that one young woman we encountered actually asked her to teach her how to, “be like that.”

“I don’t know,” Lisa said to me later that night, “I like doing it for you, but I don’t know if I can teach somebody else how to. I don’t know if I want... I want... I don’t...” Her voice trailed off as the crystal spun in front of her eyes. “N-n-no...” She was resisting as she had been programmed, but I was feeling impatient and wanted to get to the sex part of the night.

“Sleep for me, Lisa.” My wife collapsed onto the bed. “Open your eyes in your deep, obedient trance, and gaze into the spinning lights of the crystal.” As the crystal spun, I told her that she would find it flattering to be asked, and would enjoy teaching other women how to smoke sexily, and how to use a cigarette holder. “You are deeply hypnotized and completely obedient. You will do as I command.”

“Yes... master... I hear... and I obey... I must obey.”

The next day, instead of having our usual honeymoon midday fuck, Lisa and her new friend, Lauren, went shopping and then to lunch. That night, I watched men swarm Lauren at the club as she sat on her bar stool with crossed legs, cigarette holder held high at mid-stem between long, limp-wristed fingers. She would draw, and then lazily open her mouth to suck in some air, pulling the smoke deep into her lungs, before lifting her chin by the barest degree, shaping her lips into a tiny “O”, and then exhaling through it, subtly pushing her breasts forward. If the lighting was right, I could see small nasal residuals join in at the very end of her exhale.

“You like the way she smokes,” my wife quietly, proudly, observed, patting the bulge that her new friend had caused with her holdered Benson and Hedges Menthol Light. I complemented my wife on her successful instruction, drawing her thousand-watt, “incredibly happy” smile. She traced the top of my cock with a finger; it pulsed, and her smile turned horny. “C’mon,” whispered Lisa, “let’s do something dirty.” She led me to a secluded alley nearby, hiked her dress and dropped her panties, and then undid my pants, freeing my erection. I picked her up and slid my cock into her. Another young couple quietly approached, having detected us, and immediately began masturbating each other as I thrust slowly at Lisa. The other girl’s eyes met mine and sparkled with wicked delight as I pumped at my wife, the only sounds our hot breathing.

She pushed her beau lightly on the head and leaned against the wall next to my wife, raising her own dress. His head disappeared underneath, and her eyes immediately took on that dreamy sex cast as she braced herself, standing right next to Lisa, looking me in the eyes as I fucked my wife. Her persistent naughty, lewd gaze quickly sent me over the edge. I came forcefully in buckets while Lisa dug her nails into my jacket and buried her mouth in my shoulder to stifle her orgasmic cries. Then, looking purposefully at the girl next to Lisa, I sank to my knees in front of my wife. My cohort-in-crime opened her mouth in a surprised, silent gasp, her eyes widening with even more excited lust. When I began to lick Lisa’s gooey pussy, cleaning my mess, the girl gave a soft squeak of ecstasy and I sensed her shudder in orgasm. Shortly thereafter, Lisa and I collected ourselves, she put a More Light into a holder, and took a regal drag while calmly watching the other couple, now fucking as we had been. After about a minute, we left them to their own libertine public liaison. Not a word had been spoken between any of us.

Given that Lisa and I were having epic intercourse almost nightly, even after the honeymoon was over, the inevitable happened quickly. “I think I’m pregnant,” Lisa said on the night of our two-month anniversary. The news thrilled me—I wasn’t thinking about how hard being a parent would be. Two weeks later, after it had been confirmed, Lisa heaved a heavy sigh as she reached for a Max 120 Regular. “Menthol makes me sick now,” she complained. “I know I should quit for the baby, but y’know those craves they talk about? Mine aren’t for food, I just wanna smoke. All the time.”

I had noticed that she was smoking a lot recently, but had chalked it up to stress over work and... well, she was twenty-two and was going to have her first baby, and here she was telling me that she had the urge to chain-smoke while pregnant. It wasn’t the fetish turn-on I expected. I was watching Lisa suck and blow hurriedly without her usual stylish flair, which made me realize just how important the glamor aspect of her smoking was to me. When we got home, I called her into the bedroom, and as she sat next to me on the bed, I said, “Sleep for me, Lisa. Very deep, completely obedient.”

She sighed, her head dropped to her chest, and she began to whisper to herself, taking her far into the depths of trance. “I hear and obey... my master.”

I removed the majority of her cigarette craving, commanding her to smoke only when she was in the mood for sex during her pregnancy. “You will seduce me with smoke, as you know how to do very well. Smoking is for seduction, no other reason, Lisa. When you get the urge to smoke at any other time while you are pregnant, it will catch fire in an instant and burn away before you can reach for a cigarette. You must obey me.”

“Yes... master. I must obey,” affirmed Lisa in the enthralled monotone that always sent a surge of blood to my cock. With one fetish more or less denied, I commanded her to become horny before I woke her to make sure that her post-hypnotic suggestions would work, although I knew that they would. About fifteen minutes after dinner, I heard Lisa sweetly call my name from the bedroom. I arrived to see her take a long drag from an unfiltered 164 in the ivory holder. She was naked, stretched alluringly across the bed. Exhaling luxuriously, Lisa held her free hand up to indicate that I should just stand and watch. Halfway through her cigarette, my clothes were off and my cock was hard. With one last extended french-inhale, she placed the remainder of the 164, still longer than a king-size cigarette, into an ashtray and lazily curled a finger. I didn’t need a second, verbal invitation.

Lisa seduced me about twice a month after that, sometimes lying in wait for me. I would walk into the apartment after work, smell the smoke, and head directly to the bedroom. There she would be, either in lacy lingerie or nothing at all, with a 164 (either a Fantasia or an unfiltered brown one) in the wedding holder, and come-hither mixed with smoke hanging in the air. Her growing belly seemed to have no impact on her desire; a week before Nicole was born, she smoked an unfiltered 164 without the holder while stroking my cock, and then handed me lubricant so I could gently ease my dick in and out of her ass. Nicole Diane Gordon was an easy baby, sleeping soundly through the night after about only four months. Lisa resumed smoking when she went back to work, but not in the apartment, leaving both of us disappointed.

We bought a home a year later, one with an enclosed, all-season porch in the back. Our first night there, after our talkative daughter had gone to sleep, Lisa pulled out a Fantasia, inciting a night of sex—twice on the porch, and after a post-sex More Light 100, we broke in our bedroom.

It was clear that Nicole was special: by the age of two, she was reading at a third-grade level, and showed a curiosity about everything far beyond your average two-year-old. Her “why” questions were probing, and she tried to understand complex concepts, accepting her limitations quietly. Then she would come back two weeks later with an understanding of a piece of the puzzle that had defied her.

Nicole had invited us to dinner to show off her newly acquired gourmet cooking skills from a class she had taken in her spare time. Gaston was overseas on a business trip, and with both her siblings away at college, it was just the three of us in the sprawling ranch home she shared with him. I pushed my chair back from the table while Lisa and Nicole cleared the dishes and chatted in the kitchen. Our daughter had wanted to create a five-course meal worthy of a four-star restaurant, and as was usual for things she wanted to do, she had succeeded. My wife rejoined me at the table. “Nicole insists she’s fine,” Lisa said. “She told me to go sit with you and relax.” I smiled at her. Her light brown hair was beginning to turn gray, and she wasn’t quite the same firm-bodied hottie she’d been twenty-seven years ago, but she was still the most beautiful, enchanting woman on the face of the planet to me. I’d never strayed once. Lisa was still an elegant smoker, defying social convention, favoring Capri menthol 120s almost exclusively now, with brown More 120 light regulars for her change of pace... and the occasional good cigar. My wife had a collection of more than a dozen holders; I’d paid someone to modify most of them so they would fit her slim and superslim cigarettes. Now that it was just the two of us at home, I got to see my erection-inducing, elegant holder-smoking femme fatale more often again, and I was up to the challenge. In addition, I still had hypnotic control of my wife, so she was still the perfect lover—not to mention that her libido surged in her thirties, and went through the roof when she hit forty-five. So why would I have wanted any other woman? I lit Lisa’s Capri 120 menthol, and watched adoringly as, eyes dancing, she french-inhaled for me. Our house was going to be noisy tonight.

Our daughter came out of the kitchen a few minutes later, placed a pack of Capri 120 regulars on the table, and put one into a black holder. “Daddy,” Nicole cooed, “may I have a light?” I provided the requested service. Suddenly, Lisa put out her half-finished smoke without a word and left the table. I thought nothing of it, and at my daughter’s whispered, “Watch me,” I did, with growing appreciation for her smoking grace. I thought, her mother has taught her well, and complimented her on being such a beautiful, intelligent young woman who smoked with class in an era where most smoked with little art. “Thank you, Daddy,” she smiled, “I do try, since it’s so important to you. Come with me, and let’s talk some more.” She led me to her bedroom, where Lisa stood, nude, softly repeating, “I await my mistress’ command. I will obey.“

Shocked, I angrily exclaimed, “Nicole! You snap your mother out of it this minute!” She and her hypno-games were getting out of hand.

“Relax, sexy daddy,” she replied, showing me a crystal. It spun. I felt my shock and anger fade, but still couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Nicole smiled. “It’s amazing how subtle you can make hypnotic triggers. Just the fact that I don’t normally smoke regular cigarettes is enough to be used as a trigger. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t have been possible without your dedication. You’ve done a masterful job of turning Mommy into an easily programmed hypnoslave.” She lit another of the regular cigarettes. “Prepare Daddy for me.”

“Yes, Mistress. I obey.” Lisa knelt in front of me and pulled my pants down.

I couldn’t move or speak; Nicole was twirling the crystal in front of my eyes. “Yes, Daddy, watch the crystal for me. It’s sooo much work to be in control... you like it... it excites you. But you like being on the other side, too, because it’s so easy to give up control... give in... let me take care of you... relax... and become even more excited by the smoke... by Mommy’s head... and by my control. Now, take your pill for me.” I obeyed with a happy sigh, hardening quickly as Mistress had requested. When she reclined on the bed, inviting me to join with her, I walked to her side and she enveloped me in a cloud of smoke, handing me her cigarette to extinguish. Then I plunged my cock into her deliciously wet, clinging pussy and began thrusting enthusiastically, Lisa no longer in my thoughts. All I was aware of was an overwhelming need to pleasure Mistress.

“Slowly, Daddy,” she commanded with a gasp. My cock had become a steel bar, and my hips slowed. “Mmmmm... long annnd... slo-o-o-ow... ohhhh... I like that.” Mistress cooed and moaned, moving in time with my gentle pumping until she arched her back with a soft cry. “Kiss me,” she panted as her orgasm subsided. Her slightest wish was my imperative. When she sighed blissfully and said, “Cum for me. I want you to make yourself cum in me,” my hips sped up, urging more sensation through my cock. My renewed vigor forced rapturous cries from Mistress, and suddenly, she arched her back again with a loud cry. I snorted with my next forceful thrust and shot a burning pulse into her. More pulses flowed through my cock as the sensations along its entire length when I moved were almost too intense for me to remain conscious. The haze vanished when my orgasm subsided, and I gasped in horror at the sight of my post-orgasmic daughter beneath me. “NI—!” What started as an enraged shout turned into a happy, addled sigh when I felt the touch of her finger on my forehead. “—cole...”

I stood up as my cock shrank, slowly, the drug fighting against nature’s mandatory refractory period. Mistress wrapped her arms around me, and commanded another kiss. Disobedience was not possible, nor desirable. “Mommy is so lucky... having such a handsome, sexy, virile man as her husband,” she said. “Aren’t you, zombie mommy?”

Lisa’s arms shot to shoulder level as she remained on her knees. “Yes... Mistress. I am... lucky. Jack is... very sexy.” The drug gained ground at that. Mistress commanded my wife to bring cigarettes and holders, saying, “Let’s excite Daddy together.”

A few puffs later, Lisa was kneeling over me, taking a big draw on her Capri 120 menthol in a long, long wooden holder while rubbing my cock, eyes blank. The combination of Lisa being so obviously in trance, the physical stimulation, watching the two women smoke so sexily, and the Viagra quickly sent me to erection, turning my dick solid steel again. “Lie on your back,” breathed Mistress, “watch Mommy... and remember.”

I was busy licking Mistress’ cum-filled pussy when Lisa mounted me. My wife rode me slowly, hips rotating leisurely, without making a sound. The only noises were coming from Mistress, enjoying my oral efforts from above for a brief time. I heard her shriek, felt her shudder, and she flowed onto my face before falling to the side.

There was nothing else for a few moments until Mistress’ voice softly gasped, “The kids are asleep!” Then there was only Lisa, my thoroughly enchanting wife and I, her eyes alight with desire and joy as we made passionate love, finally alone for the night.

Nicole’s genius was officially certified at four by the appropriate authorities. She was reading at a tenth-grade level, but seemed content to act like a four-year old girl when she wasn’t doing what she called, “her education.” In some ways, her maturity made it easier to be her parents because we could reason with her, and she understood the value of age-appropriate behavior. Even at her silliest with her friends, I could see the intelligence in her eyes: this was just an act.

Lisa stepped into the “smoking room” one Saturday night after a long day. She’d had to work, so Nicole and I had spent the day at the zoo. “Finally got her settled down,” she smiled. “She loves it when you take her to the zoo. Nicole had to tell me all about the science stuff you talked about, and the conversation you had with the snow leopard.” My wife handed me a drink. “She still thinks you know what you were saying, and you just don’t want to tell her because it’s grown-up stuff. The leopard’s going to have cubs.” I chuckled softly in response, but it died when Lisa put an Eve 120 menthol into one of her holders. Lighting it herself, she took a long, long drag, breasts rising, exhaling through pursed lips with an extended, quiet “fffffff.” Her chest was pushed forward and the holder was even with her ear. Nicole faded in importance. Lisa took another puff with elegance, and as the last wisps of smoke escaped from her nose, she cooed, “Now that the baby’s asleep, maybe daddy has some time for mommy?” A minute later, smoke was swirling around my rising cock while my wife quickly bobbed her head along its length. Clad only in bra, she exhaled through her nose, stood, and stuffed my half-erection into her as she sat facing me. Lisa gaily drew on the holder, tossed her head, and exhaled straight up. I hardened some more, and she began to move her hips, slowly, until she put out her cigarette. Then she began to ride me with urgency, sending both of us to a gasping, panting orgasm in minutes. Lisa dismounted me, gave my cum-covered cock a playful lick, and picked up her cigarettes and holder. “C’mon inside, tiger. I’ll break the rules n’open a window.” She was a hot and sexy mommy in her mid-twenties.

Lisa announced that we were expecting our second a few months after that. We broke the news to five year-old Nicole, who simply cocked her head, considered it for a few moments, and then pronounced, “That’s cool. Will it be a boy or a girl?” We told her that we wanted to be surprised and chose not to know ahead of time. “Really? You can do that? My friend Sally knew she was gonna have a baby brother.”

That night, as we were putting her to bed, we decided to tell her about babies and what to expect. “Oh, I know where babies come from,” Nicole forthrightly said. “Mommy has eggs—well, they’re more like seeds, really—inside her, and you go inside her and water them. Then one of the seeds grows in Mommy and becomes a baby.” Lisa and I were speechless at her accurate (in a five-year-old’s terms) description of sex and pregnancy. Sometimes, we forgot that our daughter wasn’t an average five-year-old girl.

As with Nicole, Lisa’s craving for tobacco went through the roof. Once again, the spinning crystal took care of that, but her libido was much stronger this time, and she seemed to be predisposed towards anal sex. She’d lay in wait for me in bed, seductively posed with holdered cigarette and swelling belly at least twice a week, if not more.

Life changed with Kevin’s birth: our sex life pretty much disappeared between him and his older sister, because their sleeping schedules rarely matched. As a baby, Kevin was everything Nicole hadn’t been: fussy around us, downright horrible around strangers (anyone who wasn’t Mommy, Daddy, or Nicole), and he slept in two-hour increments—if we were lucky. I also took a new job that left me less free time, but the pay increase was too big to pass up, so even though I could hypnotize Lisa into bed, I was generally too busy or too tired to do it, and for once, her sexy smoking couldn’t make me change my mind. Kevin’s fussiness with strangers abated somewhat after he turned one, so we could let Lisa’s mom baby-sit while we accepted Amy’s shower gift of a spa weekend in Arizona on her.

Our friend had ditched the hypnotist boyfriend a few months after we’d gone to the show that changed our lives, and ended up marrying a rich guy more than twice her age. She invited us to celebrate her new status as an ex-trophy wife: her recent divorce had left her loaded, so she took us out to dinner at a fancy restaurant our first night there, still slender and looking hot. Men—accompanied or not—looked when she walked by. “I’m happy you guys could get away. Bet it’s hard being around the kids all the time,” Amy said while we waited at the bar, taking a short, deep drag from her “long, skinny bitch stick,” as she put it. She had started smoking Capri menthols when they came out, but had since switched to the longer version. I had never considered her fast, thin, all-oral exhales to be that sexy—although she was hotter than hell—but when Lisa took one of the long, superslim cigarettes and slowly produced a well-lit trail of thick smoke from her lips with an extended nasal finish, I felt a visceral charge tear through my body. My wife relaxed, holding the Capri 120 in her normal, elegant fashion, and I was in serious fetish lust. Amy went to the bathroom at that moment, giving me a chance to say the magic words to get me what I suddenly wanted.

“Lisa, sleep for me, eyes open and instantly deeply asleep, completely obedient to my command now.”

“I hear and obey... my master,” sighed Lisa, very quietly. I told her that she would smoke the Capri 120s instead of her Eve 120s while she was here, and then woke her up. As dinner was ending, Lisa asked Amy where she could buy some Capri 120s.

“Finally gonna stop giving me shit about my skinny bitch sticks?” Amy rejoined, smiling.

“Well, they were too short before,” my wife jokingly countered. Her friend laughed and took Lisa to a drugstore while I went back to our room. Lisa returned alone, but much to my surprise, she was smoking a More! Noticing my gape, Lisa smiled, “I saw these in the store and bought a pack. They’re More Light 120s... but they’re brown, not white.” She took one of her sexy smoking drags, posing with the long brown cigarette between her fingers, smoke directed upwards at a slight angle. “They’re pretty good. But I still think I’m gonna smoke the Capri 120s while we’re here.” A sly smile came to her face, and she slowly french-inhaled her following drag. “So... what do you want to do now, Jack?”

Freed from work and family obligations and the need for discretion, Lisa and I played our sex games without restraint. I hypnotized her several times just to hear her say, “Yes, master,” in that excitingly flat tone, arms raised at shoulder level, eyes blank. When she wasn’t in trance, she smoked the Capri 120s with smoldering sensuality. Unfortunately, it was only an extended weekend, and over much too quickly. We left Arizona with Lisa carrying a carton of More Light regular 120s in brown onto the plane, and, although we didn’t know it at the time, another baby.

We went without sex for over a month after that. Lisa had gotten a “field” promotion when her boss suddenly quit the day after she got back, and was trying to make sure it stuck. There wasn’t a lot of time for me, not between seven-going-on-seventeen Nicole, fussy Kevin and the bun in the oven. One night, I tried to start something the traditional way, and she snarled at me, “Not tonight. I’ve got to catch up with the monthly report, and the kids did not want to go to sleep tonight. I’m not in the mood, Jack.“

Her vehemence caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly. “Lisa, zombie sleep for me.” After a couple of minutes, she stood with her arms outstretched. “You are no longer pissed off at me. You need to feel my cock in your throat, and the taste of my cum in your mouth as it mixes with the sweet taste of an unfiltered 164. You crave all this as soon as you awaken, and only after you’ve satisfied this need will you be able to get back to work. Obey me.”

“Yes, master. I hear and I obey.”

“Mmmmmm...” There was no mistaking the satisfied purr coming from Nicole as she sucked on my cock, growing harder by the second. She released it with a loud smack, and took a long draw from the cigarette holder between her fingers. My daughter opened her mouth and let the smoke roll out in a big ball before sucking it back in, exhaling over my twitching cock. “I needed some quick stress relief, Daddy,” she purred. “Thank you for being such a good Daddy to me by helping.”

We were alone in the house because Lisa was out shopping with our other two children, and I was stuck at home with a sprained ankle. My daughter had suggested trying hypnosis to stop the painful throbbing instead of taking the drugs that just made me want to sleep. I moaned happily at Nicole’s efforts. I knew I was in trance, but my ankle had stopped hurting as she said it would, and all that mattered now was letting her manage her stress level in the way she told me that she needed to. After all, who would know how to relieve her stress better than she would?

“Daddy, watch me,” Nicole whispered. She drew again on the Hint of Mint in one of her mother’s holders, letting the smoke curl into her nose. “Is that how Mommy does it?” It took an effort to move my heavy, heavy tongue and lips, but I told her she was very close. “That’s good. I can relax some more now... just like you should.” I sank deeper into the chair with a happy sigh as Nicole recaptured my cock with her mouth.

Her head moved faster now, hand jacking at the base of my cock. Every so often, she would stop sucking to thank me for helping her to relax. My moans became more frequent—everything felt so good—and the burn shot through my cock in an instant, followed rapidly by another... and another. “Mmmmmfff!” Nicole exhaled as cum overflowed her mouth and began streaming down my cock. She continued licking and sucking until I was clean, swallowing everything. “Oh, shoot. My cigarette went out,” she said. “I like Capri 120s better anyway.” My genius of a daughter kissed me on the cheek and purred, “I love the taste of your cum.” She rearranged herself and gently pulled my pajamas back up. Nicole stopped at the door. “Thank you for relieving my stress, Daddy. Now I can get back to work. I hope your ankle feels better.”

The door closed, and suddenly I realized that Nicole had stopped the majority of the pain with hypnosis. I didn’t even realize that she put me in trance!

Almost nine months to the day we had landed at the Phoenix airport, Lynne Geraldine loudly announced her arrival. When Lisa resumed smoking, she smoked her Eve menthol 120s—for about a week. The packaging had changed, but she quickly discovered that wasn’t the only thing that had changed—they didn’t taste the same. A week later, without any hypnotic prompting from me, Lisa switched to Capri 120 menthols, and it’s remained her main brand ever since. There was (and still is) something about the long, superslim cigarette between her fingers that drives me wild.

However, three kids made it difficult to find time and space for sex, and on the rare occasions it was possible, wearing out the kids so they would sleep right away usually meant wearing out the parents. When I was too tired, Lisa’s smoky seduction usually got us what we wanted, but when Lisa was the tired one, “Lisa, sleep for me,” became foolproof foreplay.

We bought our second house shortly after Lynne turned two. It was bigger, so all the kids would have their own bedroom, and we had an outdoor, climate-controlled “smoking section” added before we moved in, as Lisa re-dedicated herself to not smoking in the house. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as private as the one in our first house, which meant that having sex out there was impossible. Lisa could still make me crazy horny when she smoked, so there was a lot of late night, hushed, hurried padding through the house to get to our bedroom on the second floor. The demise of Nat Sherman’s 164mm cigarettes signaled the end of Lisa’s self-imposed “no smoking in the house” rule. She wanted to use the wedding holder with her last few boxes and take advantage of the resulting excitement right away. When the 164s were gone, the bedroom became the domain of Capri and More Light 120s, with Lisa choosing an occasional Hint of Mint just so she could continue to use her wedding gift.

As the children grew older, Lisa and I found that we had more late-night time to ourselves, which improved our love life a little. We decided that three was enough, and insured that we wouldn’t have any more. Suddenly, it was as if we couldn’t get enough of each other. Lisa was almost perpetually horny, and still looked good enough to have to shoot men down when she was out, especially without me around. It wasn’t difficult to keep her happy in the bedroom. Along with her blatant (and I loved her for it) catering to my smoking fetish, Lisa’s “zombie sleep” seemed to make me harder than ever. Sometimes I wouldn’t even give her any post-hypnotic suggestions because I just wanted to watch her eyes go blank, her arms rise, and hear her say, “Yes... master... I hear... and obey,” in that fetish-perfect monotone before leaving her to her own seductive devices. Other times, I would make my horny, rich bitch heiress reappear, using her holders to smoke Sobranie Black Russians and Sobranie Cocktails she’d brought back from European trips. And then there was always the ability to remove her gag reflex hypnotically, although I greatly preferred Lisa as an actively engaged and aware lover—even if she would be acting under a post-hypnotic compulsion.

Maybe I should have paid more attention to my brain instead of my dick back then, but I had the hottest wife of anyone I knew, and sex was still an imperative.