The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


mc md mf ff in

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Disclaimer: if you’re under 18, don’t read this

As I write this, she is kneeling by my side, wearing high heels and the skin she was born in. Karen just licked my cock clean, and right now she is rubbing him gently, caressing him with a light, expert touch. If I let her, she’ll tease him back to erection and then suck me off again. If I tell her to, she will sit by me for hours, in a sort of standby mode, waiting. If I give the barest hint, she will fuck me, or let me fuck her, in any way I want—but I don’t feel like that right now. I’ll have her clean the house.

There. She’s gone now, and I can concentrate. I can remember back to two years ago, when I was her student, and she was Miss Thompson...but introductions are in order.

My name is Tom. I am 18 years old. I am an only child of a single mother who makes a very nice living as a Certified Public Accountant. I am 5′ 8″, I weigh 135 pounds, and my body frame could be a dictionary illustration for the word scrawny. I have dark brown hair, gray eyes, glasses that correct my 20/400 vision, and a pale complexion. If a movie director called Central Casting and asked for a nerd, they’d send me. My most prized possession is my computer. I got my first computer at the age of eight, and by age 16, which was when the events of this narrative took place, I was a world-class computer hacker. I never sabotaged anyone’s files or created a computer virus, which is what usually gets hackers caught. I just peeked into really secret places. It was fun to hack into the Pentagon’s files, or the NSA, or the CIA’s most covert records.

That was where I read about CIA mind control experiments. Dear reader, the things that the Central Intelligence Agency did to people’s heads are truly astonishing. It was fascinating reading, and I filed it all away on my brain’s hard drive, but I didn’t think of it again until junior year Home Economics class, and Miss Thompson.

I had an elective. Shop class wasn’t an option—too many dumb jocks. Computer science would have been a complete waste of my time. Home Ec, however, fit nicely into my schedule. It looked like an interesting class, with as much focus on health and nutrition as the domestic arts, and I might actually learn to cook! Plus, I could ogle the hot girls that would likely fill out the class.

I realized I would not be ogling any of the girls on the first day, when I saw our teacher, Miss Thompson. She was 22 years old and fresh out of college, a brand new teacher. She taught Home Ec and Typing. She was a Christian of the best sort, the kind who actually believed in Jesus’ teachings and tried to apply them to her life. Miss Thompson was really quite a nice and charming person.

She was also the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, before or since. Karen Thompson was (and of course still is) five feet, five inches tall. She had honey blond hair of the sort that you can tell at a glance is natural and not a dye job. Her perfectly symmetrical face held green eyes and a smooth, clear complexion. She looked like a Nordic angel, or, if you will, a slightly shorter, curvier version of Heather Graham. Her angelic face sat on top of a body that would turn Hugh Hefner’s head. Her modest outfits could not hide that 38D chest (of course, I did not know her size at the time). Her body narrowed to a 24-inch waist before flaring out to the best bubble-butt on Planet Earth. God, she looked good.

Dear readers, I had fantasies about her constantly. I’d sit there in Home Ec and picture her naked, or in a bra and panties, or in a corset, or bent over her desk with that delicious ass of hers in the air. However, the idea did not come to me until one day in mid-September when Miss Thompson did something a little different.

“All right, ladies—and Tom”, she said, smiling at me. “I want us to try something my boyfriend taught me last weekend.” She was dating some virtuous fellow named Don who was enrolled at a seminary in a neighboring state. “It’s a relaxation technique. It’ll leave you all feeling very refreshed. Everybody please lie down on the floor, OK?”

So we all hit the linoleum. I, for one, was intrigued. “OK, everybody relax every muscle in your body. Let go of every part of your body, making everything loose and relaxed. We’re all very relaxed now, loose and relaxed. Now I want you to start at the very tips of your toes. I want you to think about your toes, feel them in your head, feel how relaxed they are...”

She went on in this vein for a while. The last thing I remember was thinking how lame this was as Miss Thompson verbally led us up to our knees. Then from somewhere out of my reverie her delicate, musical voice piped, “Wake up!”

I woke up with a start and realized that I had been in a very deep sleep. Just like she had said, I felt great. The girls and I all wobbled to our feet. Miss Thompson beamed a smile at us and said, “Wasn’t that great? Don’t you feel refreshed? It’s a mild hypnosis technique!”

She continued to chatter away until the bell rang. I did not hear her speak. Instead, as I stared at her and watched those magnificent tits rise and fall with each breath, I realized what I had to do. An idea sprang into my head. It rapidly mushroomed into a plan. I already knew much of what I had to do, and I could learn the rest. It was time for the student to become the teacher.

I abandoned my stroll through NORAD’s mainframe to hack back into the CIA files. They yielded a great deal of information on chemical stimulants, hypnotic techniques, and use of subliminals. Some of the ingredients in the drugs were available over the counter; some required searching in the shadier regions of society. I got them all. I did plenty of research on subliminal conditioning and hypnosis, using my Mom, who was always happy to support my hobbies, as a guinea pig. I got Mom to believe she was a little girl once, and another time I programmed her to turn on the stereo whenever I said “Looks like thunderstorms today.” Mom was a sport—unfortunately for her.

It took me from the middle of September to early November to feel I was ready for Miss Thompson. I caught her after the school day was over, while she was going through papers at her desk.

“Hi Miss Thompson!”

She turned on that smile of hers again. “Hi Tom! What’s up?”

“Remember that relaxation exercise we did a few months ago?” She nodded, as her eyes lit up with interest. “Well, I found a book on meditation and learned some interesting stuff.”

Miss Thompson was delighted. “That’s great, Tom! It helps you unwind, doesn’t it? I know my relaxation tapes really help me center myself after a hard day.”

I didn’t know she used relaxation tapes. I checked a mental box and continued. “Yeah, but I was hoping to find a subject to practice on. My Mom just won’t do it. Could I try it on you?”

She paused, and looked a little wary. “Tom, I don’t know if that’s appropriate.”

“Oh c’mon, it’ll only take 10 minutes. Please?”

Miss Thompson was, above all things, nice. It was her downfall. “Well, OK.”

“Great! I’ll just lock the door so no one bothers us.” I clicked it shut before she could protest. “Ma’am, what’s your first name?”

The smile returned. “Karen.”

“OK, just for this, I’ll call you Karen.” I hopped quickly onto the desk, drawing a startled yelp from Karen, and stuck a green thumbtack into the white ceiling tile. “OK, Karen, I want you to stare at that thumbtack.”

She had to crane her head back pretty far to see it. “All right, Tom, I’m looking.”

“Try and be quiet for the next few minutes, Karen. I want you to stare at the thumbtack, and I want you to concentrate on your body. I want you to concentrate on every sensation and stimulus in turn. Feel the way your hands feel in your lap. Concentrate on your breathing, Karen, the way your chest rises and falls. Rises and falls, slower and slower, over and over again. Concentrate on your eyes, Karen, on how dry they are getting now. It’s awfully hard to keep staring at the green dot, isn’t it? Your eyes are burning, Karen. You want to close them so badly, but you can’t. Your neck is getting stiff, the muscles taut, and you want to straighten your neck very much, but you can’t. The dot is starting to dance and shimmer in your vision. You want to look at something else, but you must keep staring at that dot. Your chest rises and falls, each breath deeper and deeper.”

I went on this way for a few more minutes. It seemed to be working. Karen’s hands, which had been clasped on her lap, had fallen to her sides and hung limply. Her mouth was open now, and she was breathing through it, very slow and deep breaths. Her whole body had slumped in the chair like a dead woman’s, except for her neck, still craned back, and her eyes, still wide and staring and unblinking. Tears were rolling down each cheek. I felt a surge of confidence.

“Now Karen, as you stare at the green dot, imagine a door. Imagine yourself opening that door and seeing a flight of stairs, twelve steps going down. You go down the stairs, counting every step, and find another door.” I counted to twelve in my head, and continued. “You find another door. You open it, and you find twelve more steps. Karen, each time you open a door, you will flex your left hand. Each time you go down the stairs, you will feel yourself going deeper and deeper, down and down, down to the place where you are at complete rest and you can only hear the sound of my voice. When you hear me tell you, Karen, you can close your eyes and straighten your head, and you will be completely relaxed and at peace, hearing nothing but the sound of my voice. Go down those stairs, Karen.”

I watched and waited. When I had counted her tenth hand clasp, I said “Now.”

Karen’s eyes closed, and her head fell all the way forward until her chin touched her chest. She was still breathing at the same near-comatose rate.

“Karen, can you hear me?”

Her answer came in a slurred monotone. “Yes.”

Splendid. “Karen, I—”

KNOCK KNOCK! Then there was a voice from the door, sounding like a female student: “Miss Thompson?” I froze in absolute panic. ‘Oh Christ’, I thought, ‘what do I do?’ I glanced at Karen and saw that she didn’t appear to hear. The girl at the door knocked once more, called “Miss Thompson?” again, and left.

I quickly turned the lights out in the classroom. Now the only light was coming in through the blinds. Then I came back to Karen and said, “Karen, open your eyes and look at me.”

She raised her head and looked at me. Her stare was glassy. I was getting seriously turned on. “Karen, are you a virgin?”


“Do you have sexual thoughts?”


“How often?”

“All the time.”

This was a welcome surprise. “Tell me about them.”

“I see a cute guy and I think about it. I imagine what it would be like to have a man inside of me. I really want to get married so we can do it, but Don wants to wait to get married until he finishes the school year.”

‘What an idiot’, I thought, as I pulled the syringe out of a case in my pocket. I filled the syringe and injected the drug into Karen’s left arm. Her whole body stiffened, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she held her breath forever before letting it out in a long slow gasp.

The CIA developed that drug cocktail in the 1960s. Besides producing a powerful rush, it reduced inhibitions, impaired judgement and decision-making, and rendered the victim extremely suggestible. In combination with hypnosis, the effect was multiplied manyfold.

I waited until Karen came down from her high, and then spoke quietly into her ear. “Karen, from now on you are going to have many more sexual thoughts. It will be on your mind around the clock. You will start dressing sexier to show off that fantastic body of yours. You like it when men stare at your body. It feels good to make men horny, but it makes you horny too. You want to turn men on—except for Don. Don is dull. Don is boring. You do not care about Don anymore. You are not interested in Don that way anymore. Do you understand?”

Karen blinked and replied “Yes.”

“Good. Karen, I am your favorite student. You really like me. You think that I am a special young man. You want to get to know me better, outside of school. You think I’m sexy, and you really love to turn me on. You trust me, Karen. Do you understand?”


Dear reader, you might be wondering why I didn’t just fuck her right there. The answer was that I was not after a quick fuck, but something more permanent.

“All right, Karen, you’ve done very well. Karen, whenever I say the words ‘Little Karen’ to you, you will immediately fall into a deep trance. You will come back to this place where you are safe and you can only hear the sound of my voice. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Little Karen.”

“Good. Now Karen, I am going to count to twenty, and with each number I count, you are going to feel yourself waking up, going up, coming back up to consciousness, and when you wake up, you will feel wonderful...”

I got to twenty and waited. She blinked several times and drew in a deep breath. Then she looked at me, and for a moment I was very frightened. “Tom, I’m impressed!” I said a silent prayer of thanks. “I feel great! Wow!” She put her hand on mine. She’d never done that before. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Oh, just a couple of months. I saw a book at a flea market and decided to give it a try.”

“Well, you certainly have a knack for it!” Then she gave me a hug, pressing firm round tits against me, and my erection against her. She’d definitely never done that before. When she stepped away from me, she looked confused for a second, then brightened again. “Good job!”

“Thanks, Miss Thompson.”

“Oh, you can call me Karen. I’m only six years older than you are. Just remember to call me Miss Thompson in front of the other students, OK?”

I grinned. “Sure, Karen. Hey, I have to go now. See you in class tomorrow!”

“OK, have a good day, Tom.”

“Bye!” And with that, I left her alone in her classroom.

Over the next few days, I watched Karen’s wardrobe change in a most appealing manner. Her hemlines climbed to mid-thigh, and those skirts started to hug her tight little ass more closely. She wore blouses that showed off her cleavage a little more, and she started putting on more makeup and teasing her hair. By the next week, her look teetered on the edge of acceptability without going over. I helped this change occur with a few quick hypnotic sessions after school to reinforce her programming.

I also noticed her flirting with guys more often. She adopted a sexy hip-swaying walk. Lots of times I’d see her in the hallway laughing and playing coquette with the male teachers. She even did it with the principal, who was fat, bald, and nearly sixty. However, I noticed her new behavior most often with the only male student in any of her three Home Ec classes—me. Mostly it was subtle. A particularly bright smile when she saw me every day. Long periods of eye contact with me when she was lecturing the class. A brush of her hand against mine when she passed by my table. It seemed like she went out of her way to lean over my table, whenever she was inspecting the dish I was struggling to make, in such a way as to show her cleavage. It was quite a nice view. One day we were making a casserole in class. I was at my usual table in the back, sprinkling the pan with breadcrumbs, when Karen came by to check my work. Her left breast touched my right arm as she looked over my table. I heard a quickening in her breath and decided to try something. I put down my bowl of breadcrumbs, reached behind her, and grabbed her ass. I cupped and squeezed those beautiful cheeks while Karen gasped in surprise. Several emotions seemed to fight for control of her face before she pulled away.“Tom, I—come see me after class.”

“Sure, Miss Thompson.”

I waited until after the bell rang and everyone scattered. Karen was in distress. “Tom, I’ve done a bad thing. I’ve made you think—”

“That’s OK, Little Karen.” After her eyes glazed over, I continued. “Karen, I think we need to talk about this later. I’ll come over to your place tonight. Make sure to wear something sexy for me, baby.”

“Yes. Something sexy.”

“Good. Now Karen, on the count of three you’ll awaken.” After multiple sessions, she slid in and out of trance much easier. “You’ll feel better, now that you’ve invited me. One, two, three!”

Life flooded back into her eyes. “So, tonight then. Bye, Tom.”

I arrived at seven at Karen’s modest apartment complex in the suburbs. I knocked on the door, and her voice chimed from within, “Coming!” After a moment she threw the bolt back and opened the door.

Well. She was wearing a pair of tiny jogging shorts with an elastic band, and a gray T-shirt with “Jesus Saves” on the front that didn’t quite hang down to her navel. Her hair was done up and held with a pin. She was devastatingly beautiful.

“Come on in, Tom.” She turned away and gave me that swaying walk as she led me into her living room. God, she was sexy. “Wait just a sec”, she said as I sat down on her couch, “I’ll be right back.” She came back with an open bottle of beer for me. “Just between us, OK?” Her breasts jiggled just a little as she sat down. Her nipples were hard points. No bra for Karen tonight.

She watched me take a swig from the bottle, then began to speak. “Tom, I’ve been behaving badly. I’ve been leading you on, making you want something that can’t happen. I just haven’t been myself lately. I have dirty thoughts all the time, and the most intense dreams at night. I find myself buying clothes I never would have before.” She glanced down at her bare legs and barely concealed tits. “Look at how I’m dressed now! With a student! What’s the matter with me?”

Time to interject. “It sounds like you’re sexually frustrated. What about that guy of yours, Don? I know he thinks it’s a sin and all, but if you really tried to seduce him there’s no way he could resist.”

She looked down at the floor and said in a small voice, “I broke up with Don last week.”

Wonderful. “What? Why?”

She frowned and looked puzzled. “I don’t know why, really. I loved him, or at least I thought I did, but all of a sudden he just seemed so boring! He would call me and talk endlessly about school, and helping troubled kids, and what diocese they’ll be sending him to, blah, blah, blah, and all I want to do is fuck.” She turned a deep crimson. “I can’t believe I just said that word.”

“It’s all right, Little Karen.” She slipped quickly into trance. Another injection into her arm, and my little slave’s mind was completely open for me to tinker with. “Karen, you’re not ashamed of your urges. In fact, you are eager and hungry to explore your sexuality, but with only one person, Karen. Me. Your erotic fantasies will start to center around me. You will dream every night of me: serving me, pleasuring me, fucking me. You want to make me happy, Karen. You want to please me. You want to serve me. You are only happy when you surrender yourself to me. My will is your will. You live to please me. You want to submit to me, Karen, body and soul.”

As I spoke, she became visibly aroused. Her eyes hooded, and one hand stole to her left breast and stroked. “Now Karen, on the count of three you will awaken. One, two, three!”

Awareness returned. She was conscious now, but the influence of the drug, as well as the post-hypnotic suggestion I’d left, should make her very horny and very cooperative.

“So I—what were we talking about?” The smile she gave me now was much less innocent and much more wanton.

“Nothing important. What’s on your mind, Karen?”

She blushed again. “Tom, do you think I’m pretty?”

“Honey, you’re gorgeous. Radiant.”

Relief and pride passed over her face. “OK, but am I sexy? Am I hot, Tom?”

“Karen, you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

She looked enormously pleased. Then, to my delight, she thrust her tits at me in a most inviting manner. “Do you like my breasts, Tom?” She jiggled them for me, then leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m a 38D!”

“They’re beautiful, baby, but don’t say ‘breasts.’ Call them tits.”

She giggled. “OK. Tits.”

“Those tits would look even prettier if you weren’t covering them up with your T-shirt.”

She hesitated just a moment, then crossed her arms at the waist and pulled off her T-shirt in one motion. Her breasts hung free, like ripe fruit. She gave me a hopeful, expectant look.

“Honey, they’re lovely.” I cupped one with a hand and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. I massaged it more closely, pinching and tweaking the nipple, and Karen leaned back on the couch and moaned. I caressed her, moving from left breast to right, and she moaned again. She had the most beautiful round tits, with nice pink nipples. I leaned her over the arm of the couch and took one in my mouth, kissing and sucking the nipple. She said in a husky voice, “That feels good, Tom.”

I slipped my hands inside her shorts and found that she was very wet and not wearing panties. I found her clit and started stroking, and soon her sighs turned to gasping and heavy breathing. “Oh Tom, oh...oh...ngh...mmmm...don’t stop...yes...oh, oh, oh!” Then her whole body shook with her climax, legs thrashing, hands gripping the cushions, shouting as she came.

I stopped. Karen lay there in a daze. Her shorts, and my hand, were soaked. She looked at me for a moment without focusing, then zeroed in on my eyes and said “Please, Tom, fuck me now.”

That was when I got up and left.

The next day, Tuesday, in Home Ec, Karen’s two selves were clearly at war with each other. She was giving a lecture on the pitfalls of crash dieting, and she kept trying to avoid eye contact with me, without success. She would look over at me, blush or stammer, and look away. It was really quite endearing.

After class I went up to her desk. She was clearly both excited and nervous. “Tom, be careful.”

“I have a present for you, Miss Thompson.”

“Really, you got me something? How sweet of you!”

“Well, it’s not a big deal, just something on TV that I thought you’d enjoy, so I taped it.” I handed her the tapes I’d made of two 2-hr documentaries called “Search for the Historical Jesus” and “Search for the Historical Bible.” What she didn’t know was that I had carefully edited subliminal messages into the tapes. The first one had messages something like this:

I love Tom

Tom is sexy

Tom is good to me

Tom is wonderful

Tom is everything

I want to serve Tom

I want to fuck Tom

Tom is my Master

The second one continued the theme:

I feel horny

I want Tom’s cock

I want to taste Tom’s cum

I want Tom to think for me

I am a fuck toy

I love to fuck Tom

I am Tom’s slave

Tom is my Master

“Oh Tom, thank you!” she exclaimed.

“Little Karen?”

Vacant stare. “Yes?”

I had to hurry. A couple students had already entered the classroom. I talked in very low tones. “You will watch these tapes over and over again, while you are at home.”

“Over and over.”

“Good, now wake up.”

She woke. “Well, thank you very much.”

“I have to go now, Miss Thompson. Bye!” Then I left for English class.

The first call came the next night. “Tom, can I see you?” her voice said over the phone.

“I don’t know, Karen. I’m pretty busy with my science project.” This was true. What she didn’t know was that she was my science project, and it wasn’t for class.

“Please, can’t we get together?” Her voice was filled with need.

“Sure.” I went over and conducted some more hypnotic training, giving her two relaxation tapes of my own making to replace hers. They were nature recordings—sounds of the rain forest, thunderstorms, etc—but they had subliminal messages in them much like the videos. I “suggested” she listen to those. I went to her apartment every night that week, conditioning her, but I would not give her the fucking she was craving. Instead, I started to work on reducing her intelligence, which I hoped would make her more docile.

That Friday we were making cookies. Karen by now had abandoned pretense and hovered around my table for much of the class. Some of the girls grumbled, but none of them guessed that I was anything more than teacher’s pet.

I kneaded cookie dough while we chatted and Karen surreptitiously rubbed her foot against my calf. She only wore high heels now. Actually, she was starting to look more like a high-class escort than a teacher.

“Tom, can I see you tonight?” she whispered.

“OK. Come over at eight.”

“Thank you, thank you, M-Master.” It was the first time she had ever called me that.

“Honey, remember never to call me that in public.”