The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He waited in his room, in his bed, as long as he could. Staring at the ceiling. Stroking himself. Stopping himself. Occasionally hearing her hum as she moved around the house.

He knew he couldn’t hide forever. He thought about lying and saying he was sick, but he knew that wouldn’t mean she’d leave him alone. She’d tend to him, in his room, in his bed.

“Maybe I want that,” came that intrusive thought.

He threw off his covers. He waited until he was sure the hall was clear, then opened his door, into the bathroom.

He whimpered as he rubbed one out in the shower.

He dried himself and looked in the mirror again. Today was the first day he was worried this wasn’t a feeling that was just gonna pass on its own. He was going to have to find a solution.

“First things first, get dressed,” he said. “Then Google this shit. You can’t be the only one to ever experience this… right?” He sighed. “The internet has to have an answer. It HAS to.”

He pointed at himself a little angrier as he continued “and you do NOT control yourself well. That little ‘game’ yesterday? You KNOW that wasn’t just innocent play. Not for you.” He stood tall as if to intimidate himself. “SO—no talking to her, or seeing her, or ANYTHING with her until you’ve gone back in your room, hopped online, and found an answer.”

Satisfied with his speech, he put on some clothes, and opened the bathroom door. He took a step towards his bedroom-

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

His mother’s voice called from the kitchen in a taunting, sing-songy fashion.

What computer? He had forgotten all about it. He was floating towards the kitchen.

She was wearing a sun-yellow, pleated tube top, which puffed up her breasts around a turquoise pendant. And navy-blue, high-waist mom jeans. Very tight on her body. As if her legs and her hips had been painted denim. Her hair was brushed to one side, her neck naked on the other, and she was smiling at him, as she sipped from her mug, her biceps flexing and unintentionally squeezing her breasts together as the mug was brought to her lips.

“You slept in!” she teased.

He rubbed his eyes to pull himself together. “Mhm,” he grunted. He stepped down the stairs, still in a tizzy.

“You look dazed,” she chuckled. “Have some coffee.”

If she had asked it as a question, he would have declined—he didn’t want to get his heart rate any faster—but she didn’t ask. She told him to. She COMMANDED him to. Yes, ma’am.

He poured himself a mug from the pot, faced away from her, his mind looping through different versions of her telling him how good a boy he was for obeying.

He took a sip as he turned back to her, across the counter from him, her top at just about the right level to be obstructed from his view, allowing him pretend she’s naked. Her head was down now, scrolling on her phone, humming again.

The caffeine hit, and he felt a rush of alertness and euphoria through his veins. A certain liquid courage.

“You look pretty,” he stated as neutrally as he could. Fuck it. A son can tell his mom that. And it was true. Her eyebrows raised in surprise as she looked up at him, her cheeks blushing as she smiled.

“THANK you, John!” she beamed. “That is so sweet!”

He nodded stoically, standing his ground. Commanding himself not to blush back. “Just thought you should know,” he said, sipping his coffee again.

“Well, you just made my day!” she said, still filled with the adrenaline of receiving such a wholesome compliment out of nowhere.

He felt a sense of power that he hadn’t felt the last two days. HE had affected HER. Even if it wasn’t in… that way…

More awake and taking in this newfound sense of control, he remembered his computer now. “Thank you for making coffee,” he said not facing her, and set his mug on the counter. He grabbed a paper towel quickly to wipe his mouth, crumpled it, and opened the cabinet door to toss it in the garbage bin.

It bounced back out onto the floor, ricocheting off the overflowing heap.

“Uh-oh”, she said, in that sarcastic tone a mother makes when she sees the opportunity for a chore to designate. “Looks like SOMEONE should take that out.”

He looked up at her, her smug side-grin and raised eyebrows smacking him in the face with “THAT SOMEONE IS YOU.”

But he half smirked back, feeling a little rebellious, a little flirty, a little confident given her reception to his remark on her physical appearance. “WELL,” he said. “ONE of us already made the other’s day, didn’t they.”

She leaned back with a scoff, placing her hand on her cleavage, over her pendant. “Oh, and you think that’s just a get-out-of-chores-free card now?”

He added, “AND, I did the dishes yesterday!” He said it with pride.

His confidence faltered as she closed her eyes and smiled, laughing quietly to herself, stretching her muscular arms up and back, unhooking the necklace from her neck, and clutching it in one hand so it dangled. She did it with such feminine grace, with such matter-of-fact patience. Obviously there was no universe where she meant to imply it this way, but right now to John it was as if she was saying “I can take my sweet time. You can’t run. You’re already mine.”

She looked at him and said “watch the necklace, John,” in the same way a friend might say “hey, check out this video.” She began to swing it to and fro. And he was happy to play along, because from his angle it just alternated between her left and right boob.

He was still feeling playfully curious, testing the waters. He flexed the muscles in his forehead as if he had a migraine, and put on a dramatic voice of an 80s action hero in peril. “N-no!.. I shall resist!” Egging her on. Excited to watch the fire ignite in her eyes, watch her double down on her role as his superior. Watch her dominate him.

But the pendant stopped swinging, and she frowned. Shrugging, she set the necklace on the counter. He had killed the narrative.

No he hadn’t.

Fuck it.

He lunged forward and snatched the necklace, she actually jumped in alarm. “HA!” he exclaimed, adopting his villain voice again. “Foolish of you to let your guard down!” He started swinging the necklace himself, much more wildly than she had. “I think YOU would actually LOVE to take the garbage out, WOULDN’T you.”

She folded her arms, squeezing her chest, her eyes not following the necklace at all, just staring at him with an expression of “really?” But he didn’t care that she wasn’t looking. Despite his performance, his goal wasn’t actually to win.

“Now I have the hypnotic pendant!” he exclaimed. “Give up, mother, it is futile! Nobody can resist.. the… pretty… charm…” he let his swing relax as he started to rock his eyes back and forth, his voice fading. His eyes widening and looking back and forth, from her left breast, to her right breast (they looked great with her arms pressing into them), pretending it was the necklace he was staring at.

It came to rest, centered a couple feet from the crevice between her tits. He stared as long as he could get away with, letting his jaw slack a bit to really sell the role that he had accidentally hypnotized himself. It was quiet for a second, and he started to worry—“does she know?”. She unfolded her arms, and leaned VERY far forward. He followed her chest as low as he could before it became too obvious, and switched to actually looking at the pendant. She outstretched his arm towards him, and from his hand, plucked the necklace, and drew it away with caution.

Now he was looking at her face. And she was smirking, obviously amused. He got what he wanted.

“Wanna take out the garbage, John?” she asked, with just a little more humanity than if she were hyping up a dog by asking “wanna go on a WALK?”

He put on his confused face. “What? No, I—” then he switched his gaze over the necklace in her hand. He let his face relax again and said softly and monotone, “yes. I would love to take out the garbage.”

“I like hypnotizing you.”

He blinked a few times, shaking awake. “Huh??” he asked. She laughed, and went “oh! Right! I mean—forget I said that, silly. You’re not hypnotized. You’re in TOTAL control of yourself!”

He scoffed. “Uh, yeah? Duh! I can’t be hypnotized, mom.” He started prepping the garbage. What he DIDN’T tell her was that his “huh?” wasn’t him roleplaying this time. It was genuine shock. He did NOT expect her to say those words. To say them with such warmth. With such pleasure. With such love. “I like hypnotizing you.”

He grabbed the whole garbage can instead, and started carrying it to the door and out to the street, between his body and his mother’s, being sure to block his erection.

He watched her dusting the sills when he returned from the end of the street. Some spots were hard to reach, and her naked shoulder and back muscles would flex, and her pants looked like they might rip and her ass would break free, jiggling, hypnotizing him for real to-

WHY did she have to be so fit?

Why did she have to be so HOT?

He found himself resenting her choices of outfit as he stared at her. Why can’t she dress more modestly? He wanted to take his frustration out on her. To bend her over the counter and spank her for tempting him.

He was losing it. At some point she had bent down to dust under the TV stand, and he decided it was time to retreat to his room when he looked down and realized he had one hand down his pants.

He shut the door. Pacing and smacking himself.

“I like hypnotizing you.”

For all the sick, disgusting shit John had jerked off to, he had never considered anything erotic about hypnosis. He was damn sure now that it was a fetish that exists, but he had never thought about it. Why was it suddenly his thing? Where had this come from? He supposed it was because he had never been a situation like this, where he wanted to have total control over someone else and make sure their memory was erased of everything he did to them.

For as much pleasure he got pretending to be hypnotized by her, it wasn’t enough. He still felt this strong urge, compelling him to hypnotize her. He knew it ever since he attempted it with the butter knife, back when he didn’t even know what he was trying. He NEEDED to hypnotize her. He just didn’t know how.

Was SHE doing this to him? He knew the thought was insane, but he was going insane anyways. Had she actually hypnotized him, somehow? Was she masterminding all of this? “Maybe SHE wants ME.” No. Shut up. But he started thinking about it, about how he felt the last few days. It was more than just arousal. There was SOME force at play here that he didn’t fully grasp. Something about the way he went numb when he saw her, how good it felt to obey her, how he’d lose focus whenever she sang, like earlier when he was heading to his-

His computer! The memories of his gameplan flooded back. He had totally forgotten he was going to search online for help! This all needed to be fixed ASAP, and this was NOT something he could turn to her for help with.

He rapidly pressed at the spacebar to wake his monitor up. He typed in his password as he rolled his chair back to sit in it.

A knock at the door. “John?”

He sighed, and went to open it, poking his head out. “Hm?”

She looked so pretty.

She’d look prettier in your bed.

Shut up.

“I have a few more chores I could really use your help with,” she said, in a way as if she could make it sound exciting.

He gave a genuine look of empathy, and tried to fight for himself, “I’m happy to help later, but if I could first—” he took note of her hand, which was fiddling with the pendant around her neck, rolling it between her finger and thumb.

The words in his head again, “I like you hypnotized.” Fuck it.

“I love doing chores. I love to do what my mother tells me.”

“Follow me,” she beamed, and he did. As he watched her hips sway with delight in her tight jeans, he again started doubting whether the trance was an act.

He was a very good boy.

He mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges. He swept and mopped the floors, and vacuumed the carpets. He cleaned the windows. He emptied the rest of the garbage bins around the house. And he emptied the dishwasher from the night before.

The adrenaline from the roleplay, combined with the jolt he got from his morning (and then afternoon) cup of coffee, kept him going. The few times he did start to feel himself crashing, he instigated a new “story beat” in their developing narrative.

THE FIRST TIME was still early afternoon. He took a seat on the sofa, leaning back into it. “Mom, can we call it a day, already? I’m getting sleepy,” he said, baiting her. He specifically tested this one out after just over an hour of cleaning, knowing the answer would be no.

“Oh?” she’d go, with an inquisitive eyebrow-raise. “Did I hear right? Youuuuuu are getting veryyyyyy sleepyyyyyyyy?”

She took the bait. But he reacted as if it was the last thing he wanted to hear. “Wait, no!—” he exclaimed, jolting upright. “I take it back, I’m not slee—”

“No, it’s fine!” she said with a tinge of disappointed parent, her hands on her denim-defying hips, but then smirked. “I understand John, you’re getting VERY sleeeeeeeeeepyyyyyyyy… so veryyyyyyyyyyy sleeeeeeeeeeeeepyyyyyyyyyyyyy…”

He parrotted, “very… sleepy…”, rocking his head around.

“Do you want my advice? As your mother?”

“Mother knows best,” he mumbled.

“She DOES! Good JOB!” she piped, almost like a cheerleader, it was so loud and proud. “I think, if you’re feeling SLEEPY, Jon, you should have some coffee!” she turned 45 degrees toward the machine, then came to a sudden halt, and gleamed. “In FACT—why don’t you make a pot, John? I could use some coffee myself.”

He obeyed.

“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready for your NEXT task!” she sang. As she danced her way down the steps, he quietly blew a kiss towards her ass, as if maybe if it made contact he would magically taste it.

He started the machine, and an idea popped in his head. He could hear his mom was occupied, somewhere in the garage. So he snuck upstairs to the bathroom.

John didn’t study chemistry, and he was a fairly young guy who hadn’t developed any health issues yet. So he didn’t quite understand what he was looking at when he opened the cabinet of different assortments of vitamins, medicines, antacids, supplements, etc. He was looking at each individual container and bag and trying to infer if any of them could be slipped into someone’s mug of coffee to knock them unconscious.

He envisioned her getting dizzy, starting to sway. He’d be her hero, her knight in shining armor, there to catch her, and guide her to the bedroom so she could rest off the sickness… but oh no! He can’t quite get her to her own room, so instead she’ll sleep it off in HIS bed…

“I won’t even do anything to her,” he whispered to himself, nodding, still reading different labels as if he understood them. “Maybe just some photos. Maybe just touch her boobs. One or two squeezes…” he realized suddenly where his head was and was mortified. He heard the pot gurgling in the kitchen, and contemplated how quickly he could jerk off for relief—and he very quickly learned the answer—and after washing his hands, returned to the kitchen.

He handed her her mug and she smiled, her elbows once again squishing her breasts together to lift the mug to her deep pink lips. He watched her as she sipped, and found himself wishing he had “cleaned his hands” in her mug rather than in the sink.

The rest of the “story beats” were more or less different variations of him stopping what he was doing, and saying out loud “wait- what am I DOING? Why am I doing CHORES?” as if he had just returned to the real world. And he’d try and sneak out the room, or even dart out of the room, making a whole scene. And she’d always find him and block his path, and wag her finger “ah, ah, ah!” and swing her necklace for him. And he’d halt in his tracks, and bounce his eyes back and forth across her cleavage (er, her PENDANT, of course), and then apologize. “Sorry, mother. I don’t know what came over me.”

One of the more wholesome variations was when he started repeating in his machine voice “mother is wonderful and not an evil hypnotist. Mother is wonderful and not an evil hypnotist.” She tried to pass a laugh as a scoff, and objected, “I am NOT evil!” To which he said, still in character, “that’s what I said. Mother is wonderful and not an evil hypnotist.” And she really laughed at that one.

“Welp!” she clapped her hands together, sighing tension out her shoulders. “That’s it! You’re off the hook!” It was evening. “AND,” she added, “Tomorrow’s Monday. I know YOU don’t have school, but I still get to work from home. Woohoo!” she cheered sarcastically. “So you’ll FINALLY have the days to yourself!”

“But mother,” he tried to show on his face how a robot would frown if physically possible. “The only thing that brings me joy is to do chores against my will.”

She slugged him in the shoulder—granted, INCREDIBLY lightly. “Oh hush,” she said, her voice showing that she was genuinely exhausted, and put a hand to her breast. “It’s not MY fault you’re easy to hypnotize.”

They just microwaved some frozen meals this time.

“So, where did this sudden interest in hypnosis come from?” she asked him, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. “Is this from college?”

“Mm,” he said, setting his fork down, and wiping his chin, stalling. “Yes,” he lied. And then he immediately wished he had given any other answer.

“Really!” she seemed excited to be talking about the side of her adult son she hadn’t gotten to know yet. “Are you learning about it in a class?”

“Mhm,” he lied again, nodding with confidence. “PSYCHOLOGY.” He blurted, like he knew the answer to the a trivia question. He did take a psychology course his first quarter. The textbook may have mentioned hypnosis in a single sentence.

“That’s cool,” she smiled. “Did they do any hypnosis in class? Or just talk about it?”

He halted for a second, trying to think which answer would be better. “Um, we saw some videos and stuff,” he said. “Hypnotized people doing things like—” he realized he didn’t know what hypnosis could do in the real world. “...not… smoking…” he awkwardly gestured to her and she nodded. “And um… people doing chor- people doing WORK, like, jobs and stuff, and being a lot happier and more willing to do stuff they found boring or tedious.”

She perked up, and he couldn’t sense any doubt in her eyes. “THAT sounds nice,” she said, her eyes on the ceiling (his eyes on her chest). “I’ve already been hypnotized for the first! I would LOVE to be hypnotized for the other,” and she laughed a pained laugh, “oh, I really don’t want to work tomorrow.” She sighed and grabbed her fork again, the scraping sound letting him know to avert his gaze again. “So,” she continued, “did you learn how to do it?”

“Well,” he joked, “if there’s anything I’ve learned from today, all it takes is swinging a shiny object.”

“HA.”

“I’m detecting from your tone that that’s not how it went for you?”

“Mm?”

“You got hypnotized to quit smoking, right?” he leaned forward. “You’re telling me he didn’t just—” he mimed swinging a pendulum, “and then snap his fingers?”

“Ah,” she nodded with a sly smile, “nooooo, sorry to blow your mind, but most people have a LITTLE more willpower than you.” She winked. His balls tingled. “No, it was not as fun as all that. It was—gosh, it was so long ago,” she cocked her head to one side as she said this and her hair followed, the skin from her jawline down to her shoulder never looked so naked. “It’s really not that interesting.”

“I’M interested,” he said, leaning closer to her again.

“Fair enough,” she tilted back up but he didn’t lean back at all. “He just told me to focus… on the sound of his voice…” whether consciously or not, her own voice grew softer already as she recalled this. “And he spoke with this lull, that sort of just… draws you in… and he just told me to take nice, slow, deep breaths… in through my nose…. Out through my mouth…” she demonstrated both.

John nodded. “Uh-huh,” he said, not realizing his own breathing had started to slow.

“And he just told me to start blinking my eyes… or like, closing them when I breathed in… and opening them again when I breathed out…” with every inhale he glanced to check her eyes were truly shut, and then he watched her chest inflate. “And each time, my eyes would just feel heavier… and heavier…”

“Uh-huh,” John said, except he didn’t. He thought he did. But his eyes weren’t even on his mother’s chest anymore—they were rolling towards the tabletop.

“And he just started counting me down, from 10… 9…”

The spiral was paralyzing.

His mother’s voice had faded away, as had every other thought in his mind. The only thing he could feel was like he was about to cum.

A voice echoed, LOUDLY, but sooooooothingly. And it wasn’t a woman’s voice—it was a male voice.

“You live with a beautiful woman,” it said.

“I do,” John’s mind agreed. The orgasmic feeling in his cock started to flow upwards through his body.

“You want to fuck her in your room,” the voice said.

“I do.”

“You want to fuck her in front of your computer.”

“I DO.” John felt like his whole body was as sensitive as the tip of his dick.

“Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes!!!”

He jolted at the snap of her fingers. “—and that was pretty much it!” she said, finishing her story. “It was weird, because I REMEMBERED the suggestions, but I still felt their effect.” She looked at him, and he was suddenly aware of how far he had slouched.

He was still trying to process what the fuck just happened to him. And he still felt like he had just edged himself for the entire day. He nodded as if he had followed. “Right! Okay, uh-huh. Yep! Okay, so just counting, and deep breasts, got it.”

She involuntarily spat ravioli with a laugh. “Deep BREASTS?”

“BREATHS!” he corrected. “Sorry.”

She dabbed the sauce off her breast. “No, don’t apologize, that was hilarious.”

“Mom I would love to hypnotize you,” he blurted eagerly.

“Ha!” she chuckled. “Yeah, you tried this morning. You’re bad at it.”

You’re pathetic. You’re a fucking loser pervert. There really wasn’t anything she could say that his mind couldn’t sexualize.

“No, but I mean like, ACTUALLY try,” he clarified, heart pounding. “For class!” he added, feeling like a genius.

“For class?”

“Yeah! For extra credit we can do a psychology experiment, and I think it would be cool if I successfully hypnotized someone. I was gonna try it on a different girl- OR GUY- but then the lockdown happened, and I was gonna just give up, but then I thought hey, maybe I could hypnotize YOU!” he hoped he hadn’t said that all too fast.

Her face scrunched. “I thought you took psychology last quarter.”

John contemplated the logistics of time travel so he could go back thirty seconds and punch himself in the face.

He shut his eyes and sighed. “The truth is… I just want to be the cool guy who hypnotized his mom,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at her with vulnerability. “I want to be able to brag about it to friends and classmates. When I return.”

She was looking at him like he was insane. She opened her mouth to ask a question—then stopped herself—and then asked anyway. “Do you do drugs, John?”

“No ma’am,” he blushed. Which was true.

“Well, as your mother, I’m grateful. And DON’T start. But when I was in college, that was what made you the ‘cool guy’—or ‘gal’, in my case.” She pointed her fork at him. “If I had known at that age, getting drunk every night and smoking everything passed my way, that one day I would be asked by my son to cluck like a chicken so he can impress his friends…” she just looked down and shook her head, but she was laughing to herself.

“...CAN you be hypnotized to cluck like a chicken?” he asked, stupidly.

She shrugged dramatically. “I dunno! I didn’t think I could be hypnotized to quit smoking!” she continued picking at her food.

John didn’t know what to say. He figured this was the end of the conversation.

“What WOULD you make me do?” she asked, chewing a bite.

He looked up at her as she chewed. Her tongue pushing the inside of her cheek.

You don’t want to know, he thought.

He just looked in her blue eyes, and they looked back. She swallowed her last bite. Eventually she just smiled a soft smile, and touched his hand. Her touch was so warm and soft.

“Well,” she said, “we can discuss it later. You HAVE been very helpful these last couple of days. I may humor you.” She scooted her ass back as she stood up, and towered over him as she bent down to collect his plate, and he wanted to sink lower and feel even smaller in the shadow of her bosom. She walked to the kitchen, plates in both hands. “Also—I remember that being hypnotized felt SUPER goooood. I wouldn’t mind feeling all loose and limp like that again!”

He was still staring at her, feeling every emotion at once. She looked up from the sink at him—again at an angle where she looked topless to him—and shouted, “you’re dismissed, goof! I’ve hypnotized you enough today!”

“Whatever it takes.”

It was the middle of the night—perhaps 3 in the morning. John would have no memory of the events, and he would conclude that he had somehow fallen out of bed and experienced another wet dream on the floor.

If anyone had been watching him, they would have watched him pull back the covers, and stand up slowly, eyes rolled back. They would have watched him walk toward his computer, drop his pants, and begin slowly stroking. They would have watched him begin mumbling, with the minimum level of control over his own mouth and lips: “whatever it takes.”

Stroking. Again and again. “Whatever it takes… whatever it takes…”

They would have watched him jizz across the carpet, and then slowly sink to the ground, still mumbling until he succumbed to sleep again. “Whatever… it… takes…”

If anyone had been watching him.

Maybe someone had.