The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“We need to talk.”

If that’s not the phrase most effective at instilling a sense of dread in your average man, it must at least be in the top three. Not the sort of thing you want to hear your wife say at any time, let alone just after getting back from a particularly hellish three-day conference.

Well, to be fair, she waited until I’d eaten, and was loading the dishwasher, but still…

I resigned myself to the fact that, instead of getting to spend what remained of the evening unwinding, I was going to have to switch over to domestic stress management mode, and grabbed a bottle and a couple of glasses before joining Jane in the lounge.

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want to talk about?” A nice, neutral response to her opening salvo. No implicit admission of guilt, no hostility, no giving ground before I even knew what the issue was.

She took a deep breath. “It’s about your fetish.”

I was too taken aback at discovering that she even knew about that to do anything more than boggle at her for enough time to make things awkward.

“Your hypnosis fetish,” she specified, presumably in case I was hiding more than one from her, and didn’t know which one she’d found out about.

Part of me wanted to reassure Jane that I wasn’t cheating on her with some hypnodomme, never had done, never would, but denying infidelity before a direct accusation was made only ever raised suspicions. The ‘reasoning’ behind this appeared to be that I wouldn’t feel the need to say that I wasn’t doing anything wrong unless I was, in fact, doing something I shouldn’t.

I swallowed. “How did you find out?”

“I missed you, when you were away. And I remembered Amy saying that whenever Mitch was gone for a while and she started getting lonely, she’d wrap one of his sweaters around a pillow and cuddle that, so I tried that—with something of yours, obviously—but it didn’t help. Maybe because you’re not that physical, I don’t know. Anyway, I thought perhaps I needed something that’d give me a sense of your personality. So…” she looked down at her folded hands, “I read some of your diary.”

“You hate my diary.” The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think, triggered by memories of old arguments.

“I don’t hate the diary. Just the time you spend on it. Every night, just before bed, it’s the same: you get together with your little book and shut me out for twenty minutes.”

It sounded bad when she put it like that, and I couldn’t think of any response that wouldn’t make me look uncaring, so I said nothing.

“Anyway, I decided to look at the entry for our wedding day. Which you wrote on the day after.” She delivered that last point in an accusing tone, like a lawyer revealing a particularly damning piece of evidence in a courtroom drama.

“And it was sweet, and funny, and I teared up a bit at the line about how you felt when you first saw me in the dress. But right at the end you went on to say a bit about the night. Our first time. And you wrote that you weren’t going to go into detail because you were writing a diary, not a porno, but your fears had been groundless, and not being able to indulge the fetish hadn’t harmed your performance.

“So obviously I was left wondering, ‘What fetish?’ And I started looking through other entries for any mention of it, to try and figure out what it was, and there were enough hints here and there that in the end I was able to put it together. You get turned on by the thought of being hypnotised. Or watching it happen to someone you can relate to. And you’ve kept that a secret from me as long as we’ve known each other.”

“It’s just a fantasy. I’ve never… indulged it. And it’s not the kind of subject there’s ever a good time to bring up. Would you still have gone out with me if I’d told you about it up front?”

“Probably not straight off,” she conceded. “But at some point…”

“Like when? In the early days it would’ve been too soon to mention something so personal, and by the time we were comfortable sharing anything that intimate, it was already in ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ territory. It never affected our relationship, so I didn’t feel the need to admit to it.”

“Never? Don’t forget, I’ve been reading your diary. How about that time we made love on the sofa? Which I now know only happened because of an unexpected hypnosis scene in the film we’d been watching on TV. What you wrote about that was a big clue about what your mystery fetish was.”

“All right, almost never. But you had no complaints about it when it happened. Said it was the most romantic night we’d had in ages, as I recall. And I’m pretty sure it would’ve spoiled the mood if I’d confessed, ‘I was only so horny because the villainess entranced the heroine and almost made her walk off the roof.’”

“Of course it would if you’d phrased it that way. But if you’d found a way to tell me without making it sound so creepy, we could probably have had more nights like that.”

“Seriously?” I’d never dared imagine that she might be willing to accommodate my kink.

“I don’t understand the appeal, but if it could make you that passionate on a regular basis, I’d give it a shot.”

The very thought of her utilising my fetish to make me more like the kind of lover she wanted was starting to turn me on. “What sort of thing did you have in mind?”

“Well, the obvious thing would be for me to try and hypnotise you.”

I gaped at her. Had somebody rescheduled Christmas and my Birthday to both take place tonight? “You’d… do that?”

“Why not? I’ve done a little research since I worked out what your secret was, and I reckon your willingness should compensate for my lack of expertise.” She leaned to one side and patted the far end of the couch from where she was sitting. “Come on, sit next to me, and let’s try.”

I felt a bit self-conscious about the bulge in my trousers, but under the circumstances I could see that trying to conceal it would be a bad idea, so I got up out of my armchair and walked across to sit in the spot indicated. “I’m sorry for having misjudged you.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.”

I gulped, and told myself that she wouldn’t take unfair advantage of this situation, but just the idea that she might made me harder. It’s a hot fantasy, but it’d be a horrid reality.

Jane took hold of my hands and manoeuvred so that we were face to face. “Remember how you used to get lost in my eyes when we were first going out together? I want you to look into them and relax and drift away. You can do that, can’t you?”

I gazed into those beautiful pools of greyish-blue, and cast my mind back to the days when they could hold me rapt until cramp set in or one of us would start to lose their balance or reality found some other way of butting in and spoiling the moment. She was still talking, but already I could barely make out what she was saying—and this time, it was what she wanted, so I could just go with it and not need to worry about getting the ‘You never listen’ argument all over again.

I let her words wash over me and plunged deeper into her eyes.

The next thing I knew, I was lying in bed, cuddled up to Jane, and the daylight bleeding around the edges of the curtains told me that it was morning. My disorientation at the transition rapidly gave way to fresh arousal as I realised it must have worked. My wife had hypnotised me—and I couldn’t remember a thing about it. Which was exciting, but also disappointing: what’s the point of having fun if you don’t have any recollection of what you get up to? I realise that that’s kind of the point of binge drinking, but that’s why that particular pastime has never really appealed.

Jane’s eyes blinked open, and she smiled and kissed me. Evidently she’d had a good night, too. And she still knew what had happened.

“So… how was it?” I asked.

Her smile widened. “Don’t you remember?”

I shook my head. “Not a thing.”

She chuckled. “It worked, then. Don’t worry, honey, you’ll remember what you need to when the time is right.”

So she’d programmed me with post-hypnotic suggestions? I went from mildly turned on to so hard it hurt in an instant. “What happened?” I croaked.

Her smile became a grin, showing off her teeth. “We talked.”

“And?”

Her hand came up to stroke the side of my head. “Don’t you realise what a breakthrough that was?” she whispered. “We’ve hardly said anything that matters to each other for months, and then last night, after I put you under, we were able to open up again.”

The intensity of the emotion in her voice told me that this was important to her, but I couldn’t help feeling that this was an anti-climax, and my dick obviously agreed, as my erection subsided to a barely noticeable level. Besides, what was the point of having a big heart-to-heart if I was left with no idea of what it was even about? “Look, I’m glad you’re happy, but…”

“For the first time in ages I know what’s going on in your life. I know what’s on your mind. I know what you’re worried about. I know about that bitch who keeps trying to come on to you at your office.”

Now I was alarmed. “I’ve done nothing to encourage her, I swear!”

“I know.” She kissed me again. “That’s why you woke up in my arms, not the porch. But I shouldn’t have had to hypnotise you to find out about it.”

I apologised, as that seemed the best way to avoid getting drawn into an argument, and asked what else we’d talked about.

“Oh, this and that. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprises, so I shan’t go into detail.” She grinned again. “Is it time for breakfast?”

I ducked beneath the bedcovers and buried my head between her conveniently parted legs. It was as if my consciousness was divided, most of my awareness focused on how Jane was responding to each stroke of my tongue as I tried to find and stimulate that special spot, while another part of me tried to make sense of what was going on.

Thanks to some of the erotica I’d read, I’d had fantasies about going down on a woman since before I even met Jane, but I’d always been too embarrassed about the subject to try and find out her views on oral sex. And now I was doing it, and the way she was wriggling about, she was eagerly joining in and trying to help me zero in on her clit. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that this must have been something I’d mentioned under hypnosis, and she’d obviously given me a trigger to make me turn the fantasy into reality.

She cried out, leaving me in no doubt that I had reached my destination, and I redoubled my efforts, my head swimming with the scent and the taste and the feel of her. The pressure of her thighs against the sides of my head increased as she came, but I kept going, determined to help her achieve a multiple orgasm. I could sense the tension building within her, knew she was close, and then her hands were seizing my ears, pulling my head up, and I heard her repeating the words, “Fuck me!” over and over.

I was hard again—even harder than before—and I crawled on top of her and pushed my rigid cock into her hot, wet cunt. That wasn’t a word I normally used, but now it seemed like the only possible name for it, and I was thrusting my erection in and out of it more forcefully than ever before. I also found myself grabbing at her tits rather than gently caressing them as I usually did when we made love.

Even as I built towards what I could tell was going to be one of the most spectacular climaxes of my life, I was mortified at the realisation that this was something else Jane had set up while I was in trance: she wanted me to be rougher with her, and it was working. She was coming hard, and so was I, and I continued to pound away at her until my erection had completely gone, and then I slumped down onto her. Our mouths met, and our tongues coiled around each other, and even crushed between us, my hands were still doing their best to knead at her breasts, and then she gave me a push, and I disengaged from her, rolled to one side, and lay panting next to her, my hand finding and clasping hers as I tried to mentally process everything that had just happened.

“You still sorry we talked last night?”

“I’m… starting to see the benefits of improved communications.”

She laughed, and turned her head to look at me. “Are you… okay with… the changes I made in you? I mean, you had no problem with them last night, and I know it’s not supposed to be possible to make someone do anything they don’t want to with hypnosis, but still…”

“It’s a lot to take in, but if it makes you happy…” I swallowed. “I didn’t hurt you at all, did I?”

“I’m not made of porcelain, Harry. And I could have stopped you in an instant if it had got too much.”

The certainty with which she spoke made my dick twitch. Only slightly, but this soon after the most intense sex we’d ever had, any activity down there was a lot. “Then I’m fine.”

She squeezed my hand. “So far, so good, then.”

Did that mean she had some other post-hypnotic surprises lined up? The prospect slightly alarmed me, but also prompted another twinge of arousal.