The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jill Herbert danced energetically to the Middle Eastern music. The bells attached to her skimpy top tinkled as she rippled her stomach muscles and shook her ample bosom. Taking up belly dancing classes had been a great idea! She’d never felt freer in her life, and she’d actually lost eight pounds.

She brought her arms above her head and chimed her finger cymbals, losing herself in a private fantasy in which she was performing for a medieval Persian sultan. The dance studio’s décor helped: it was right out of the Arabian Nights, with rich hangings on the walls and huge vases on the floor. One of the dance routines the instructor taught involved undulating up from inside one of the vases before climbing out for the finale.

She’d come a long way. Only a few months before, she’d have been too inhibited even to consider taking such classes. Since she’d started going to Dr. Alexander, however, she’d loosened up a lot.

Jill grinned. She’d gone to the hypnotherapist because she had been having trouble sleeping, and it had been hurting her at work and putting a damper on her dates with her boyfriend Ben Scott. Dr. Alexander’s treatments had certainly worked on that problem—these days she slept like a baby. But it was almost as if they’d pulled the cork on her personality, letting out a wild streak she’d never known existed. She sometimes wondered exactly what the doctor suggested to her when she was under—but whatever it was, she wanted more. As much as she could get.

Finally, the music stopped and Jill came out of her dream. The other students were once more part of her universe, rather than vague shadows at the edges of her perception. She lowered her arms and stopped dancing, feeling, as always, relaxed.

“Very good, Ms. Herbert,” her teacher complimented her. You’ve picked up the movements and the spirit of the dancing very well.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Chalabi,” she responded.

“Have you considered dancing professionally?” Mrs. Chalabi asked. “If you would be interested, I could provide you with the names of a few people to call.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t, thank you,” Jill stammered. She was an executive secretary at a big ad company. She couldn’t take up belly dancing for real! If they found out, no one at the firm would ever take her seriously again, and it was hard enough for her there as a woman.

And yet . . . she was tempted. Lately, it seemed her work was less and less satisfying. She had to dress up in dowdy business suits and pore over computer screens and paperwork all day, the routine broken only by dishwater-dull phone calls from clients. She only felt really alive, it seemed, when she was dancing in class. Or—she smiled—lately, when she’d been off work and had deliberately dressed up in her sexiest clothes and gone for a walk. She’d never realized how much of a thrill it was to turn guys on. She liked it so much that she’d started buying a whole new wardrobe for her little strolls.

Jill’s smile broadened. She was even considering getting a boob job. Her tits were big enough by themselves, but it couldn’t hurt to add a little more zoom to her bazooms.

The smile faded abruptly. Where had such a thought come from? It didn’t sound like her at all! Lately, it seemed her whole personality was changing.

The smile returned. Who cared? Any change in staid old Jill Herbert had to be an improvement. Especially if it meant Ben—all the guys—liked her better.

Session twelve:

“Tell me how things have been going, Jill,” instructed Dr. Alexander.

“Fine . . . Doctor,” Jill said foggily, her eyes locked on the swinging arm of the metronome on the doctor’s desk. “Everything’s just . . . fine.” Back. Tick. Forth. Tick. Back. Tick. Forth. Tick. . . .

“Have you been following my suggestions like a good girl, Jill?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Jill sat in the chair facing the doctor’s desk, slumped bonelessly, watching the metronome whose ticking was the only sound in her universe except for Dr. Alexander’s voice.

“Tell me what you’ve been doing, Jill.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jill murmured. Then she went on to describe how she’d been going to the belly-dancing classes, how she’d dressing and acting more sexily. How she’d begun to deliberately tease men on the street. How she’d gone in for a breast enlargement—to “put more zoom in my bazooms,” she babbled gaily.

“And how does all this make you feel, Jill?” The doctor’s voice was soft, compelling. She trusted him completely.

“Wonderful, Doctor!” Jill trilled. “Just wonderful!”

“How do you think your father would feel about it?”

Even in trance, Jill tensed. “Dad would be angry . . . very angry. He might, might—!” She stopped, and looked as if she might cry.

“Shhh, easy,” soothed Dr. Alexander. “He doesn’t know, and I won’t tell him.”

Jill relaxed. The therapist continued, “It’s time to open the door to your magic stairs again, Jill. Open the door, please.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Now go down the stairs. You know where you need to go, don’t you, Jill?”

“Yes, Doctor. Down the stairs . . . and younger, until I’m five. Then up the other stairs, and older again . . . to where I’m the other Jill whose . . . Daddy never hit her.”

“That’s right.” The therapist smiled at his deeply entranced patient. She had internalized his script completely. In her mind, once the process began, she would act it out, taking no longer to reach the realm of the “other Jill” than it would take for her to go down and then up a real set of stairs. And the other Jill, the one he’d labeled “Jill Mark II,” was plainly growing stronger, her personality slowly imposing itself on the unhypnotized “Mark I” Jill. A few more sessions and she’d be ready to forget all about her old life. Then it would be time to call Panjit Singh and arrange to complete their transaction. “Tell me when you have come up the second flight of stairs, Jill. Say ‘I’m ready, Doctor,’ when you have passed through the second door.”

A minute or so later, the therapist heard Jill say, “I’m ready, Doctor.” She sounded faintly out of breath, as if she’d been climbing in a hurry.

“Very good, Jill.” Yes, there she was; even under the masklike cast imposed by her trance, she looked subtly different, her features shaped by a different set of remembered experiences than those of her “Mark I” self. That these memories were largely imaginary, imposed by him through suggestion, didn’t matter. Her mind accepted them as completely real.

By now he’d had time to build a fairly convincing skeleton “history” for Jill Mark II. He had commanded her to ignore the gaps which remained. In time, he’d fill in more, and her own mind would eventually create “memories” to plug the remaining holes in her past. At today’s session, though, he had another job to do. He stopped the metronome.

“Jill, listen carefully. This is very important.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Her eyes continued to flick back and forth, following the motion they still saw.

“You remember about the other Jill, don’t you? The one whose Daddy hurt her.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“She’s not really real, Jill. Her life is a dream. Say it for me, Jill.”

“The other Jill’s . . . not real.” Jill’s voice was a whisper. “Her life is . . . a dream.”

“You’re the real Jill, the only Jill.” The therapist smiled at her.

“I’m the real Jill. The only Jill.” Her voice was stronger now. She wanted to believe it.

“The other Jill is someone we made up together to help you get through some problems you had. You don’t need to remember what those problems were; it’s not important. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Jill repeated his instructions.

“You will still need to go back to being the other Jill for a while,” Dr. Alexander continued. “But each time you come here, you will find it easier to move away from being the other Jill and become yourself, the real Jill. And when you are being the other Jill, more and more of the real you will come out. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jill said.

“How does knowing that make you feel, Jill?”

“WON-derful, Doctor!” Jill squealed. She wriggled in her seat. Dr. Alexander gulped, and felt himself grow hard. When she did that, the breast enhancement she had recently undergone made her chest do amazing things beneath the tight halter top she wore.

The doctor swallowed. “How . . . wonderful, Jill?” he asked, his mouth dry.

Laughing, she jumped up, grabbed him by the shirtfront and pulled him toward her, then kissed him passionately. Head pounding, he responded eagerly.

The next hour or so passed in a hot blur. Finally, Dr. Alexander pulled himself together and got the two of them dressed again. Depositing a still-drowsy Jill in her seat again, he restarted the metronome and led her through the routine to bring her back to her normal self. Although, he reflected, it wouldn’t be her normal self for much longer; she was responding perfectly to the conditioning.

A little too perfectly, perhaps. As Jill closed the office door behind her on her way out, Dr. Alexander sighed. The little playtimes he’d arranged for Jill and himself as a sort of in-kind bonus were going to be hard to give up. It was tempting to think about backing out of his deal with Singh and keeping the new and improved Jill Herbert for himself.

But no. There was too much money involved. And besides, Singh’s people were the kind one didn’t want to piss off. They’d hunt you to the ends of the earth to get even, if they felt you’d broken your word to them.

Jill kept going to her dance classes. Finally she nerved herself up to ask Mrs. Chalabi for the telephone numbers the instructor had offered her before. A week later, after another session with Dr. Alexander, she made a number of calls and landed an audition.

She was nervous as she went into the club. What was she thinking, going to a place like this? Looking to dance in a place like this? But her doubts melted when she got a look at the décor.

The Club Arabique was done up in an old-fashioned French Moroccan style much like Mrs. Chalabi’s dance studio. Once the music started, Jill forgot her worries, letting her thoughts dissolve into the rhythm and the dance. Her private fantasy world rose around her; she was no longer a twenty-first-century professional woman, but a harem slave dancing for her royal master. Only when the music died did reality shimmer back into focus for her.

As she came to her senses, Jill heard loud, insistent clapping. “Excellent, my dear!” the club owner said. “Excellent! I think we can definitely use you here!”

Jill stammered, “Y-you understand, it, it would only be part-time. I, I have a regular job. . . .”

The club owner smiled. “Of course, my dear. We are accustomed to such things here. If, however, you should decide you wish to dance full-time, I assure you I will be willing to hire you on that basis.” He brought out a small sheaf of papers. “If you will sign these, I can schedule you for a regular performance. We can work out the details afterward.”

Half-aware of what she was doing, Jill signed the papers. She was used to contract language from her regular work, but somehow, when she tried to read what she was signing, it seemed like gobbledygook. Too hard. Never mind, she told herself. I don’t care. Don’t want to think, just dance and get guys off. Save the thinking for the office. She felt feverish as she put the last flourish on her final signature.

Soon she was dancing twice weekly. Once the music started, she forgot about everything else. She was very popular, and the applause and obvious sexual interest of the men in the audience turned her on, drove her to dance harder. She began incorporating an element of striptease into her act, and encouraging men from the audience to join her on stage. Sometimes she wondered vaguely what was happening to her, how she had become so uninhibited. Then someone would howl, “Shake ‘em, baby, SHAKE ‘em!” and she would lose that train of thought and shake ‘em.

She began to look forward to her nights on the stage and dread her days in the office. At her desk, in her drab business clothes, the world seemed cold and gray. She was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on her assignments. She began making mistakes, even in simple things, and couldn’t seem to make herself care.

Finally her manager Mr. Pollack called her in for a conference.

“Jill,” he said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but if you don’t straighten up, you’re through. We can’t afford to carry dead weight around here even if—”

She interrupted him by leaning back in her chair and extending her right leg onto his desktop, allowing the heel of the spiked pump on that foot to pop off and sway gently in front of him.

“E-even if,” her manager tried to continue, “they’re as s-s-sexy as . . . .” his voice trailed off as his eyes followed the motion of her shoe. He gulped.

Jill practically came right then and there. This guy who thought he was in charge of her was powerless when she pushed the right buttons. It would almost be worth it to see how hard she could push them.

No, she decided. She’d had enough. Teasing Mr. Pollack wasn’t worth staying in a job that just bored her to tears now.

She put her leg back down. Pollack avidly watched its trajectory. When her foot was resting on the floor again, he shook his head and sighed, then went on as if nothing had happened: “Even if they’re as sexy as you.” He passed a hand across his face, wiping away a sheen of sweat.

“Not a problem,” she said. “I’ve had another offer, Mr. Pollack. Consider this my two weeks’ notice.”

And with that, she turned and left the office.

Session eighteen:

“You’ve quit your job, Ms. Herbert?” Dr. Alexander asked, doing his best to sound concerned. “Why?”

Jill grinned at him. “It’s your fault, Doctor. Your sessions with me opened my eyes to what a dull life I was leading, how I was holding myself in. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“But what will you do now?” The doctor cleared his throat. “If it’s not impolite to ask, how will you continue to pay for our sessions? Or do you plan to stop coming?”

“Oh, I mean to keep right on coming, Doctor.” And let him pick up on the double entendre if he wanted. “I’ve got enough money for a while, and I can turn that dancing job I told you about last time into a full-time gig.” Dr. Alexander regarded his patient thoughtfully. Yes, he decided, it was time. From what she was saying, Jill’s “Mark II” personality was well on the way to taking over her waking mind.

Casually, he reached across his desk and started the metronome. Jill’s eyes immediately began to follow it. “Relax,” he suggested. “Watch the motion, back and forth, listen to the ticking, and my voice, and relax, that’s right, empty your mind, you don’t have to think when you see the motion and hear the ticking.”

“Don’t haf-ta thuh, thuh, think . . .” Jill’s voice slurred and faded. “Just watch the motion . . . and hear the ticking.”

Dr. Alexander looked at his patient. She’d slid almost immediately into deep trance. Her mind was accepting that state more and more as natural; instead of resisting, trying to remain conscious, it was now eagerly plunging into the trance state when it encountered the right stimuli.

Now for the next step, getting rid of the old, “Mark I” Jill for keeps.

“Jill, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“It’s time to use the stairs again, Jill. The magic stairs. Open the door, Jill, and go down the stairs. Tell me when you’ve reached the step where you’re five again.”

“Yes, Doctor.” A pause, then a little-girl voice: “Do’tor? I’m five.”

“Good girl, Jill. Now go up the other stairs, as you always do, and grow up into the Jill whose Daddy was good. The real Jill. When you pass through the door at the top of those stairs, say, ‘I’m ready, Doctor.’”

“Yes, Do’tor.” Another brief pause, then, “I’m ready, Doctor.”

She certainly was, Dr. Alexander thought. The Jill Herbert who had come to his office that first time would never have worn the white pumps with six-inch heels, the tight black pants, the red halter top with tassels. She’d let her hair grow, too, piling it atop her head.

“I’ve got good news for you, Jill,” the therapist announced. “After today, you’ll never have to go back to being the other Jill whose Daddy was mean.”

“Never ever?” There was a soft wonder in Jill’s voice.

“Never ever.” Her reprogramming was just about complete. She could function on her own as “Jill Mark II” while he tied up a few loose ends and arranged for Singh and his people to pick her up and deliver his payment. And what happened to her after that, of course, was none of his concern. “Look at the door to the stairs, Jill. It’s got a big lock on it now.”

“Door . . . has a big lock on it now.” Jill nodded.

“It needs a key, and you’ve lost the key.”

“Lost the key.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Dr. Alexander concluded. “You don’t need the key, because you don’t want to use that door, ever again. You don’t have to be the other Jill, ever again.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jill murmured. “Don’t need the key. I don’t want . . . to use that door . . . ever again. Don’t have to be . . . the other Jill . . . ever again.” She sighed contentedly.

Now for the fun portion of the session. Dr. Alexander pulled a small audiocassette player out of his desk and set it carefully on one of the bookshelves lining the wall, then turned it on. Brassy Middle Eastern music began to sound.

“You’re in the Club Arabique, Jill. It’s time for your dancing. Dance to the music, Jill. Up on the table and dance to the music.”

And Jill obeyed, leaping gracefully onto the therapist’s desk and wriggling to the music, slowly peeling off her clothes as she pranced and shimmied on the polished desktop, lost in the fantasy his suggestions had conjured for her.

When she had stripped down to her high heels, she sank to her knees facing the doctor, surged forward and grabbed his head, pulling it forward to mash against her writhing stomach muscles, her enlarged breasts massaging his scalp. Instinctively, he threw his arms around her, hugging her even closer.

She flipped backward, pulling him with her until she was able to bring her muscular legs up and imprison his body between them. Then she hurled herself forward again, driving the two of them to the floor.

The doctor had time for a foggy thought that this had to be more than she usually did on stage. Then everything dissolved into desire and pleasure.

Eventually, a sated Jill stopped writhing against him and closed her eyes. The two of them lay naked on the soft carpet of Dr. Alexander’s office. At last, the doctor roused himself. He deposited a gently snoring Jill on the couch in one corner of the office and got dressed.

Then he picked up the phone and dialed Panjit Singh.

When Jill woke up, she felt wonderfully relaxed. So free. “Thank you so much, Dr. Alexander,” she gushed. “This was a wonderful session!”

I’ll say, thought the doctor. “I’m glad you’re pleased, Ms. Herbert.”

“It’s hard to believe I’m even the same person who came here for that first visit.”

You’re not, Dr. Alexander answered to himself. Not that you need to know that. Aloud, he said, “You’ve responded very well to therapy. From everything you’ve told me about the way things have been going for you, we should require only one more session, although of course if you have any further difficulties, I’d be happy to help.”

Jill pouted playfully. “Just one more session, Doctor? Are you sure we couldn’t stretch it out just a little . . . while . . . longer?” As she spoke the last words, she stretched sinuously into a classic pose, hands behind her head, face turned sideways, lips parted.

Dr. Alexander gulped. “N-no,” he gasped. “We . . . we can’t, Jill—I mean, Ms. Herbert.” Fighting for composure, he went on, “It wouldn’t be right to keep on having sessions when you don’t really need them anymore. It wouldn’t be ethical.” And besides, Singh’s people wouldn’t take a delay in delivery well.

“Ohhh-kay, Doctor,” Jill sang. “Too bad.”

“Speak with my secretary on the way out. Tell her you need to schedule an exit session, and she’ll make the arrangements.”

“Okay, Doctor,” Jill said.

The exit session:

As soon as Jill had taken her seat, Dr. Alexander casually started the metronome on his desk. Then he addressed her.

“How are you feeling, Jill?” he asked.

Eyes automatically following the motion of the metronome’s arm, Jill responded, “Fine, Doctor Alexander. Relaxed. Free.”

“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “Relaxed. Free. Because you do exactly as I tell you, isn’t that right, Jill?”

“Yes. Relaxed. Free. Because I do exactly as you tell me.”

“Because you think only what I tell you to think.”

“Because I think only what you tell me to think.” Jill’s voice matched the rhythm of the therapist’s own.

Yes, Dr. Alexander thought smugly, she’s ready. She went under in seconds.

He pushed the intercom button on his phone and said, “Send in Mr. Singh, please.”

“Yes, Doctor,” his secretary’s voice came back. A moment later, a heavyset, dark-complexioned individual entered the office.

Pan had come in person this time. Evidently he wanted to see for himself what he was getting for his money, considering how much was involved—a cool quarter-million dollars this time, the most ever. “Stand up, Jill,” ordered the therapist. Jill obeyed.

Singh inspected her carefully, walking around her to see her from all sides. “Excellent,” he said. “Physically, it appears she is everything you promised. But her conditioning?”

“A small demonstration, then,” Dr. Alexander said. Bringing out the audio player he’d used before, he pushed the start button and said, “Listen to the music, Jill. You are at the club, and it’s time for you to dance.”

And she did, writhing and stripping to the brassy music before her appreciative audience of two. Finally, Dr. Alexander stopped the music, and Jill stopped dancing, her nude form glistening with sweat from her exertions.

“Very good indeed!” exclaimed Singh. “And she will obey every command?”

“Oh, yes,” the doctor assured him. “Anything I tell her to do, she’ll do. She’s been programmed to regard any command I give her as for her own good.”

“What about others?” Singh asked. “Her value is limited if she will obey only you.”

“Easily remedied,” the doctor said. “I needed to wait until you arrived, however.”

He looked into the naked Jill’s eyes and said, “Jill, this man is Mr. Panjit Singh. He is my friend and associate. You are to trust and obey him the same way you trust and obey me. Everything he tells you is for your own good. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Doctor. I am to trust and obey Mr. Panjit Singh . . . as I trust and obey you. Everything he tells me . . . is for my own good.”

“Very good, Jill,” the therapist praised her. “Wait now. Rest, and notice nothing until Mr. Singh or I call you by your full name, Jill Herbert. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jill responded robotically, her eyes fluttering half closed. “Understand. Rest, and notice nothing . . . until Mr. Singh or you . . . call me by my full name.” She fell silent and stood waiting for her next command.

“She’ll obey you now,” Dr. Alexander observed. Except, he added mentally, if you try to command her to betray me to the authorities. I’ve built in a few safeguards—but you don’t need to know about that, Pan. It wasn’t as if Singh were especially likely to rat him out, since that would put him at risk as well—but it never hurt to be prepared.

“Excellent, excellent,” Singh exclaimed. “My buyers will be most pleased. Ms. Herbert will bring a fine price as either wife or concubine, or as a sex worker; with her height and coloring she would be especially popular with my customers in Asia.”

“That’s none of my concern,” said the doctor. “Once she leaves this office, my involvement is at an end. Now, about the money. The usual arrangement?”

“Of course,” Singh responded, nodding. He took out a cell phone, punched a speed-dial number and, a moment later, said something into it in his native language. Dr. Alexander heard a faint, unintelligible voice from the other end. Evidently it wasn’t unintelligible to Singh, for after a few moments, he nodded. He pulled a piece of paper from one pocket, picked a pencil up off Dr. Alexander’s desk and wrote something on the paper. Then he handed it to the doctor.

“Wait ten minutes, then call the usual phone number,” directed Singh, “and give your account number and this code. They’ll verify the funds transfer.”

Dr. Alexander followed instructions. Shortly, he confirmed that his account had received an electronic deposit in the amount of his agreed fee. Aren’t computers wonderful, he thought wryly. They make all kinds of transactions easier.

“It’s done,” he said to Singh.

“Then we are done here,” the other said. “Jill Herbert, dress now.”

Jill blinked, then obeyed, keyed into action by her name.

Dr. Alexander reached into his desk and came out with a small notebook. “This pad contains the trigger words I programmed into her and explains the personality I created and how to manipulate it.” Minus the precautions I took, the doctor carefully left unsaid. “This will grant you full control of her even when she is not in trance. I don’t recommend keeping her in trance indefinitely; in that state, she can’t really take care of herself.”

“I understand,” responded Singh, nodding. He thumbed quickly through the booklet, then addressed Jill: “Jill Herbert, in a moment I will count to three and you will awaken, relaxed and refreshed. When you awaken, you will continue to do as I say, believe anything I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mis-ter Pan-jit Singh,” Jill said dreamily. “Count to three . . . awaken me. When I wake up I will still do as you say and believe anything you tell me.”

“Excellent,” said Singh. “One. Two. Three.”

Jill blinked and yawned. “I feel so rested,” she said.

Singh smiled at her. “Do you know who I am?”

“Why, yes, of course,” she answered. “You are Mr. Panjit Singh. You are the friend and associate of Dr. Alexander. I trust you completely and will do whatever you say, just as I trust and obey him. Everything he tells me is for my own good, and everything you tell me is for my own good.” She reeled off the planted script without hesitation, then blinked again and asked in a puzzled tone, “Wow, where did that come from?”

“It is not important,” Singh declared. “Think no more about it. Come with me.”

And Jill obeyed, forgetting her momentary concern. She followed Singh out of the office, pausing only to look over her shoulder and say, “Goodbye, Dr. Alexander.” She smiled a blissful smile.

She felt so free!