Mind Control – Pt. 01

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Mind Control — Part 1

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Many elements of this story are true. I have done a course in hypnosis, and used to work as a photographer. I have never used hypnosis for sex, and never would — although if a person consented, as in this story — I would do, to help them relax and overcome inhibitions.

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My health had been declining for a while. It was upsetting, as I had previously been very into sports, and was quite athletic, despite being nearly 40 years of age. I was diagnosed with a neurological condition, which would deteriorate over time, probably requiring a wheelchair in 10 years or so. So far, I had a few seizures and was finding my ability to recall facts and words impaired. There were good days and bad days, stress being a huge factor.

This was hardly compatible with my work at a local University. The lecturing was starting to get very tricky — being on my feet for lengthy periods was bad enough, but speaking eloquently was even worse — and the management aspects were highly stressful.

My employers were far from supportive. They felt that, in my subject, the lecturer should not be seated throughout most of the lecture, management aspects could not be fulfilled from home, and changes to hours, reflecting the side effects of medication were not acceptable. I fought their decisions through my Union, who felt the University were being very discriminatory, and some progress was made — however, the relationship between myself and management had totally broken down. There was no way I could work there any more.

Thankfully, rather than simply resigning, the Union negotiated a ‘Compromise Agreement’, as the employers had made many mistakes, and I received a large pay off in return for not discussing what had transpired or informing the press. This proved very useful.

Over the years, I had been an avid learner, and two of the courses I had followed became especially useful at this stage. I had trained as a photographer. At first, this was simply so I could take better holiday photos, but also producing decent quality family portraits for ourselves and our children — as well as friends and extended family members.

The second course was in hypnosis. My wife and I had a very limited sex life, but she had a rather repressed upbringing. We wanted to expand our horizons, but she simply felt she couldn’t. Every time we began moving into a new area, she would back off, saying it felt ‘wrong’ and made her feel physically ill. She desperately wanted to lose inhibitions, but could not just switch them off. After a long discussion, she suggested hypnosis. It was an area that had always fascinated me, so I agreed and undertook the course.

At each stage, we trialled the suggestions, and at each stage, she acknowledged that she was becoming more relaxed. In time, I was able to induce a light trance, and she would follow mild suggestions. This was not the stage hypnotism which people may associate with the concept, it was simply relaxation and suggestibility. The truth was, that while I was getting quite good at it, I could never make her do something she simply did not want to.

Despite that, there remained an important fact. She wanted to overcome her inhibitions — and she trusted me. Hypnosis had already helped her to stop smoking and to diet, removing a large amount of her post-baby weight gain (which lasted years), so I decided on the next challenge.

It was common for me to place Chrissie in a light trance, so one evening, after the kids were in bed, I offered to help her to relax. She was very agreeable — except, rather than just a light trance, I took her a step further. Once she was relaxed, I put a suggestion in her head. A remarkably simple one. That when I brought her out of her trance, all her childhood inhibitions would be gone, and she would act purely on her own instincts and desires.

I felt this was ethical. I had not asked her to do anything she was unwilling to, simply to be herself. I was also aware it was a risk. If she decided she wanted something I could not provide, maybe she would decide to look elsewhere. However, it was, in my view, a risk worth taking.

While she sat watching TV, I produced a present which I had bought earlier. I presented her with it, and waited for a reaction as she opened a box of expensive lingerie — purple and black — her favourite colours. It comprised a corset, with suspenders attached for the black fishnet stockings, and silk panties.

The outfit was designed to show off her large bust, slim, toned legs and buttocks, while hiding the feature which she liked least — her stomach. Personally, I had no problem with this feature. Previously, she had carried excess weight, but diet and regular visits to the gym had slimmed her down considerably, and while a small extra layer remained, I found her whole look incredibly sexy.

As she looked at the items, I watched her carefully. Initially, there was a hint Pursaklar Escort of her usual reserve, then it changed and a smile spread.

“It’s gorgeous. Thank you so much. My favourite colours. I love it. But…”

I could have completed the sentence. She was wondering when she would wear such items. I had been prepared for this, so in my practised hypnotic voice, I intoned:

“You think they look beautiful. You’d like to go into the next room and put them on, with some high heels. You want to do that now.”

She gazed at me, our eye contact strong and fixed, unblinking.

“Yes. Give me a minute.”

She took the box and disappeared into the next room. Quickly, I grabbed my camera, checked I had the right lens and a fully charged battery and placed it next to my seat. I angled the small study light, which would have to suffice as a spotlight and waited.

I was nervous. She had said, so many times, that she wanted to try different things, and wished she was more experimental, but every time, her mind prevented her. Had I, in fact, allowed her to be herself? I could hardly believe my hypnosis skills were making her do things against her will — indeed, that was the last thing I would have wanted.

The door handle began to turn, slowly. Would she have lost her nerve? Would the mild suggestions have worn off? Could I continue as planned, or would she suddenly reject everything and be furious with me? The door opened and in she stepped.

She looked incredible, stunning, and momentarily I couldn’t breathe.

“You look incredible,” I whispered, in my normal voice, before remembering that I needed to retain my mesmeric hold over her — correct rhythm, intonation and level of instruction. I gathered my thoughts and stated:

“You know how beautiful you look. You admire yourself in the mirror, thinking how wonderful it would be to see yourself like this for all time.”

She gazed at me, eyes a little unfocused, and smiled — more confidently than I had expected.

“I do look beautiful. I feel beautiful. I want to remember this forever.”

“I should take your picture. You should model for me.”

“Yes,” she replied, her smile broader, “I should.”

I picked up my camera, switched on the makeshift spotlight and began snapping photos. As I moved around, I directed her into various poses, first standing, then kneeling, sitting and reclining on the sofa. She followed every instruction, smiling, putting and seducing. She thrust her breasts forward when asked and spread her thighs on request — I could see the shape of her labia beneath her silk underwear — and was there a slightly darker spot? A hint of moisture? Was she getting turned on by posing for me?

“You are a great model,” I intoned, “you want to go further. Why don’t you undo the first three hooks on your corset?”

I realised that this was not quite a direct instruction, but wanted her to follow her feelings. This wasn’t solely about getting pictures for my benefit, it was a first step in changing her entire mindset.

Her hesitation was brief but obvious, as was the slight dilation of her pupils. Then, her hands went between her breasts at the front of the corset, and she released the first three hooks. I smiled to myself. Nothing extra had been revealed, but the next small step was established.

We repeated the posing and photography, more perfunctorily this time, before my next instruction.

“I think you want to undo three more.”

This time there was no hesitation. There were only nine hooks on the corset before it would fall open, and now it was undone to her navel, allowing her breasts to fall apart into their natural position and exposing more of the soft, firm, spongy flesh leading to her nipples.

Once again, more photographs, this time seeking the angles which would show as far as possible beneath the widely separated flaps. The camera flash eliminated shadows, revealing almost her full breast.

Importantly, part of her stomach was on show, and this was her greatest insecurity. If she was going to stop, it would be my next suggestion which be the cause.

“You know your body is beautiful. You believe that every part of it is sexy and appealing. You should undo the final three hooks so that you know that even those parts which you are less sure about look good.”

I was finding it difficult to maintain the stilted language and correct cadence as I spoke, due to my own arousal. I was worried that my voice would waver as the bulge in my trousers grew. I was already semi-hard, although trying to maintain my dual roles as photographer and hypnotist, and be professional in both. She must have noticed, as I saw her eyes drop to the tumescence in my groin.

Once again, there was the hint of apprehension, before her eyes misted slightly, and she undid the final hooks, allowing the corset to fall apart, held only by thin straps across her shoulders. Her large breasts still held each side Rus Escort in place, preventing them from being fully revealed. Her stomach, however, was exposed — the small layer of fat which would always hide any muscle, the small, narrow stretch marks, barely visible to anyone but her, and which I would edit out in minutes — her greatest source of insecurity.

I snapped images, encouraging her to pose in positions where my flash would reveal an exposed nipple which she believed was still hidden in shadow. Finally, now, she was exposing something private, something beyond holiday photos in her one-piece swimming costume. If she did nothing more, this was a huge step.

“You would like to take off the corset,” I droned, relieved that the music I had chosen — specially selected to support the hypnotic process — was on a loop, and the heady scent of incense had lingered. I gazed at her, beautiful, heavy breasts almost fully on show, just needing to unclip the stockings and slip off the shoulder straps. I hoped the stockings would hold up on their own, as the makers promised.

This time, she just nodded, and as she undid the clips, ignoring the gaping garment, I snapped vigorously, enticing her to look at the camera and smile as she deliberately stretched her shapely legs, making herself more sensual and seductive than was necessary.

I licked my lips. She was enjoying being sexy, liking the attention I was paying to her body — attention which previously she had found uncomfortable and embarrassing. In truth, she had never liked me seeing her naked, and had always hated me looking at her. She had even taken to dressing in the bathroom, which upset me greatly.

She slipped one strap off her shoulder, one perfect breast fully displayed, then shrugged off the other before covering herself with her hands. I was disappointed. Perhaps her reserve had resurfaced.

I took more photos, loving how the soft flesh of her breasts spilled around her hands and between her fingers, the dark, puckered skin immediately around her nipples clear against the paler flesh. Suddenly, a purple-red, ruby nipple, erect and extended popped through her fingers, alerting me to the need to encourage.

“You want to put your hands behind your head, stretch your body. You want every pose to show off your beautiful figure.”

It took a few seconds for her to process the suggestion, as I ran my tongue over my lips.

She turned her back to me, and did as instructed, showing me her spine, hips thrust to one side, elegant. Her ass looked amazing. Despite having two kids, her work at the gym had kept her toned, and her buttocks were firm, pert even.

Rather than asking her to turn, I moved around her, snapping every angle until I was in front, admiring her heavy breasts, which were still firm, soft and pliant. I adored her nipples, and remembered kissing them, sucking and nibbling in the early days of our relationship. It seemed a long time ago.

She leaned forward, one hand on her hip, the other on her knee, causing her breasts to fall forward, hanging low as she smiled at the camera, enjoying herself. As the shutter clicked, she continued posing, moving with fluidity as she worked onto the sofa, spreading herself on it, licking her lips and seducing the camera.

Finally, I decided to try the final suggestion.

“You’ve come so far, wouldn’t it be a good idea to slip your knickers off? Take them off so you can be totally yourself with no barriers.”

She barely hesitated. Standing up, she again stood with her back to me, and began to slide the black lace-trimmed, purple silk panties down her legs. Her bum looked great. At one time (the last time I had seen it exposed), it had been wide and flabby. Now it was perfect. I had no idea what she did at the gym, but whatever it was had eroded the excess fat and developed firm muscle tone.

As she bent further, her buttocks parted and I got a brief glimpse of the dark hole between. However, I was focusing just below as her vulva came into view. The pouting, pink lips glistened. She was definitely turned on and quite wet, as the lips parted slightly, deep pink, creating the impression of rose petals, shading from light to dark towards the centre.

She stood and turned, standing naked, except for stockings and high heels. I was delighted that she kept her pubic hair trimmed short ‘for hygiene reasons’ she always said. Now it meant that she looked neat and groomed, it meant I could see the cleft between her legs clearly, and it would be evident on every photograph.

Again, she posed standing up before moving to the sofa and stretching languidly. Just one more thing I wanted. I steeled myself to request, when suddenly, she moved again, making my suggestion unnecessary. She lay with one leg stretched out, and bent the other up at the knee, resting her foot behind her other leg, roughly half way up. Her most intimate parts were totally exposed.

She had never liked me looking Sincan Escort directly between her legs. Even in the days when we had oral sex, she was uncomfortable until she knew my mouth was in contact with her pussy, teasing her lips apart and flicking her clitoris, wriggling into the small, tight hole just below. By then, I was too close to focus, and as I drew back, she would bring her legs together, hiding herself.

Now her legs were apart, and I was between them, recording what lay there for all time.

She spread them wider, placing one leg on the floor, inviting me to look, the lips parting for me as she began to breathe heavily. As she changed pose, her hands wandered, no longer a model, now a woman feeling openly sexual. Her libido had finally won through.

She caressed her breast, taking a nipple between her fingers, rolling it, pulling and pinching. It had already been erect, but she made it stand further, longer. Her other hand teased her pubic hair, running through it casually, touching the top of the split, pressing, gradually sinking lower, between the outer lips. She seemed to be exploring, and I wondered if this was new to her — or at least something she had not done for a long time.

With her index finger and ring finger, she spread her outer lips, allowing her middle finger to touch the clearly visible clitoris. As I watched and took photographs, she masturbated, at first clumsily, unable to build rhythm with her fingers spread and bent, then ruefully abandoning the attention she gave to her nipple, and placing both hands between her thighs.

With one hand, she spread her lips, while the other worked the sensitive parts within. She inserted first one, then two fingers into her vagina, working in and out as the palm of her hand rubbed her clitoris.

She breathed deeply and her back arched. Suddenly, without warning, she climaxed. She sighed long and deep, her body rigid, back arching and head back. Her juices flowed freely, and as I watched, I saw her vagina almost wink at me as the muscles tensed and relaxed, pulsing rhythmically, like an ejaculating cock.

As I watched, the spasms reduced and she relaxed. I continued staring at her shining, wet cunt, until suddenly realising that she was looking at me. I returned her gaze.

“You should tell me what you would like to do now,” I suggested.

Holding eye contact, she stated firmly:

“Now, I would like to take photographs of you. Naked.”

I didn’t have to think twice. Quickly, I handed her the camera and removed my clothes. Once naked, I stood before, my erection swaying slightly, but standing proud. I had always been proud of my penis. It is fully eight inches long and sexual partners have always commented on its girth. I rather welcomed the idea of having it photographed — a permanent record before old age finally diminished its prowess.

I thought briefly. I couldn’t just stand there.

“You need to tell me how you want me to stand for you. You are in charge and need to tell me exactly what you want.”

“Put your arms behind your head,” she ordered.

“Hands on hips, hips forward.”

“On the sofa. Like I did, lie back. Legs apart.

“Sit up, lean back, legs wide. Now. Take it in your hand,”

She took pictures constantly.

“Stroke it. Rub it up and down. Show me how you make yourself cum.”

I was momentarily stunned. My wife, who turned away if I undressed in front of her, was asking me to wank. I had no problem with that — before we met, I had occasionally jerked off on webcam for women I met in chat rooms — but still — it was a seismic shift. I had to check.

“You need to be clear. Do you just want me to show you, or do you want me to actually cum?”

“I want you to cum.”

So I started stroking. Soon, I felt the familiar pressure building as my hand grazed the swollen head of my cock. I realised I was about to ejaculate, the steady click and whir of the camera like white noise as my groin tensed and I felt the familiar, explosive tension as I prepared to release.

I ejaculated, semen spurting forth in strings, jetting on to first my chest, then my stomach before weaker pulses ran on to my hand and over my pubic hair and balls. My wife continued shooting until my erection began to subside as I leaned back, breathing deeply and heavily.

She handed me my shirt to clean up. As I did so, I thought about the next step. It occurred to me that I still needed to bring her out of the light trance, but now was not the time. Maybe she would come out of it on her own, after a night’s sleep.

Finally, I suggested to her that we went to bed and that she had a deep, peaceful night’s sleep and would wake up fully refreshed. Still naked, we went upstairs, me carrying our clothes. I even had to remind her to remove her high heels and stockings before getting into bed.

As she lay in bed next to me, I lay awake, still not believing what had happened. I had a camera full of photographs of my wife in lingerie, topless, naked and masturbating — and me — naked, erect and jerking off. Even now, we lay together, naked. We hadn’t slept naked since… well… I couldn’t remember. Even on the hottest summer nights, she wore a t-shirt to mid-thigh and panties beneath, and had I slept naked, she would have looked at me in utter disgust.

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