The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Candace’s eyes were rolled up so only the whites were showing.

I couldn’t tell whether it was because she was in a trance or because Dr. George was rocking away between her thighs. Either way, I needed to hold her in place so she wouldn’t slip around in the open hatch of the SUV.

Candace’s boyfriend Jason, who had organized this event, stood off to the side, watching intently, nodding in time with the swaying of her legs in the air. Dr. George was in no hurry to dismount. The line of eager guys behind him in the big National Forest parking lot would just have to be patient and dandle their cocks.

When Dr. George finally groaned, Candace’s eyes rolled back down and she blinked a few times. She turned to focus on me and whispered, “Thank you again.”

I squeezed her arms and smiled. “Good girl,” I said.

Dr. George and I retired to the back seat of his Subaru, where he could keep watching the action outside and I could lick him clean. Then, thinking that he might want another shot at Candace, I set about reviving his hard-on by bouncing the cock head off the back of my throat.

“Candace looks like she’s been doing this for years,” he said, plainly enjoying the show. “She’s going to be a star on the gangbang circuit. Jason deserves a lot of credit for spotting her.”

“Hah,” I mumbled against his cock. I pulled up briefly. “You deserve even more credit, for making his idea come true.”

I dropped back into his lap, letting my throat relax and my mind drift.

As often happens at times like this, I slipped into a deep reverie. My head flooded with the pleasure of having delivered a mind and body for Dr. George to use.

Candace and I had known each other for years. We met at my old job, when we were in the same lunchtime Bible study group. She was so into it that she provided the study booklets. I dropped out a few years later as my interests changed, but we kept in touch—even after I was laid off with the big buyout.

Last time we’d had coffee, I could tell she was curious about something.

“You’re a free thinker now, aren’t you? How’d you become so ... impulsive?”

She waved in the general direction of my deep cleavage, which she’d been staring at. The guy at the table behind her was appreciating it too.

“You mean how’d I become a slut? How’d you figure that out?”

“When I caught you making out with Perky.”

Oh yeah, Perkins, the HR guy. “That was a one-off. I was just negotiating my severance package.”

“Exactly. How did you make that kind of change in your attitude? I admit I’m a little jealous.”

“I don’t know. I just stepped out of my old, tired self lately. I guess I released myself from the mandates of morality.” I gestured in the direction of her cross-shaped pendant.

“You make it look easy,” Candace said. “I still get pangs of fear of going to hell. You know I’m seeing Jason now? He has been trying to loosen me up, and I’m getting better, but I have a long ways to go.”

“Jason? The samples manager? Yeah, he’s a horny bastard.”

Candace shot me a funny look. “Aaanyway, I wondered if you had any advice. I don’t mean to change my whole life. But I’d like to have more, you know, fun,” she said. “You look like you’re having a blast.”

Something in my head went “Ding,” and it was like my mind had been kicked sideways, out of the way.

“You know, you might want to talk to Dr. George, my new boss,” I heard myself say. “He’s a hypnotherapist. He’s really skilled at helping people reorient their minds. It’s almost like reprogramming.” Sometimes I don’t know where I get these ideas. “He’s pretty booked up, but I bet I can get you in to see him next week, if you like.”

My reverie slid forward in time by a few days. Candace was settled in Dr. George’s office, and I was out front at my desk, sorting files. Dr. George softly called me in. “I think you’ll find this instructive,” he said.

Candace was lying heavily back in the big black chair, eyes gently closed, face utterly calm. I noticed that she was no longer wearing her big silver cross.

Dr. George asked her: “What role do you play in Candace’s life?”

“I help her ... achieve.” I didn’t recognize the slow, wispy voice.

“What’s her goal in being here?”

“... To be free.”

“What’s holding her back?”

“Fear.”

“Fear of what?”

“Hell.”

Dr. George paused.

“Does Candace ride roller coasters?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t fear that?”

“No one told her to fear roller coasters.”

“Who told her to fear hell?”

“Her father ... all the time.”

“Can you switch off that memory?”

“... Oh yes.”

“OK, Subconscious, please switch off her memories of being told to fear hell. Switch off any fear of going to hell.”

It sounded like he was reprogramming Candace. Which is exactly what I’d promised.

“OK,” the wispy voice said.

“OK, it’s switched off?”

“Yes.”

“So now she’s not going to hell.”

“She’s going to hell.”

“What?” Dr. George was puzzled.

“She’s still going to hell. She wants to meet Satan. Now it’s OK to meet Satan.”

He just shook his head, as though to clear it.

With the task apparently done, Dr. George gradually brought Candace back to conscious awareness. It took a while. She eventually sat up on the edge of the chair, blinked a lot, focused, and looked ready to speak again.

“Welcome back,” he said. “You wanted to be free to enjoy yourself, yes? You’ll find you’re free now.”

“I am? I mean, I am.”

“Enjoy yourself,” he said. It sounded like an instruction.

Candace took a deep breath, and her eyes got really wide. She looked over at me.

“Um, I’ve been meaning to tell you something, for a long time. I’ve always wanted to kiss you.” She sounded so matter-of-fact.

She slid out of the chair, stepped over to me, and planted a big one on my lips. I reached for the back of her head and pulled her in for a good long smooch. Then—where the hell do these ideas come from?—I led her over to Dr. George. He quickly unzipped.

Keeping our lips touching, Candace and I lowered ourselves carefully until we were both kneeling in front of him, and let his cock slide between our mouths. We worked him simultaneously.

My reverie melted into the current reality: I was back in his car, with his cock still wedged way down deep in my throat. I’ve noticed that my gag reflex disappears when I’m away like that.

He pulled himself out carefully, and I sat up to look around. The sun had dropped behind the firs, but the line of men in the parking lot hadn’t shortened much.

Dr. George’s cock was rock hard. But as I expected, it wasn’t for me.

“Be right back,” he said, pushing his door open.

Over his shoulder, he added, firmly: “Enjoy yourself.”

It felt again like my mind had been kicked sideways. I watched myself as I grabbed a blanket from behind the seat, opened my own door, and walked slowly forward. I folded the blanket neatly on the gravel, knelt, and looked at the nearest man’s crotch. I didn’t have to say a thing.

Once again my jaw relaxed, my throat opened, and my mind drifted away from the here and now.

I was lying back on a bed. It was so vivid. Was this real? In a hotel? I didn’t recognize the painting hanging behind Dr. George. I could sense some of his fingers deep in my pussy, stroking my G-spot. I could hear the squishing sounds and smell my juices.

Dr. George was saying something about giving me instructions when I’m aroused. The commands stick better, he said, and deeper.

“You love to bring me more minds to fuck. Yes?”

“Yes ...”

“You need to find me more minds to fuck. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“You crave to watch me fucking more minds.”

“Yes! Yes!” I squirted into his hand and blacked out.

Next thing I recall, it was fully dark. I was in Dr. George’s car, and he was driving. God, my timeline was completely scrambled. All I could do was say, “Ummm?” and trust that he was in charge of everything. It took me a while, but I finally recognized the road; we were headed back from the woods, toward Interstate 5.

Dr. George broke the silence. “You know, you’re good at identifying new clients.”

I thought about that for a few seconds, then corrected him: “You mean I’m good at procuring new sluts. And I suspect you might have something to do with that.”

“Whatever you call it, keep it up,” he said.

And so I have. And so has he. Kept it up, I mean.