The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

[After the Funeral]

Aaron sat on the bench about ten yards away from us, his back ramrod straight, seemingly stoic, facing the general direction of the spot where my mother’s (and his lawfully wedded wife of ten years) casket was lowered carefully and solemnly by the undertakers just an hour ago. I hugged daddy and his newly married husband Jamie, thanking them for postponing their honeymoon trip in order to attend mummy’s funeral. They insisted on catering the after-service reception and covering its expenses all by themselves. “It was the very least Ollie and I could do for Geri,” Jamie reasoned with Aaron a week ago.

Zachery (Aaron’s son from his previous equally tragic relationship, more about that later) agreed to leave me with Aaron as he headed home with my best mate and neighbour Nathaniel. I was really proud of my brother today. He kept his nerves firmly in check and gave a flawless vocal rendition of “Songbird” with just his guitar, the song his dad and my mum danced to at their wedding. Poor Zac, he would need to really dig deep in order to find the energy and inclination to revise for his mock GCSE exams, which would commence in a couple of day’s time. I planned to help him achieve that joyless task using hypnosis later that day.

As the last well-wisher left the cemetery, I walked towards the bench and sat beside my stepdad, resting my left arm gently around his shoulder.

After a long, foreboding pause, I took in a deep breath and whispered into his right ear, “Release,” while tapping on his left shoulder with my fingers, dreading what I knew for certain would ensue. When the dam was finally lifted, fluids gushed forth copiously—from his forehead, his eyes, his nose, even his mouth—the pain from within him when he was finally allowed to let rip was palpable. Aaron was shaking involuntarily from the outpouring of emotions which were hypnotically suppressed by me (albeit very reluctantly) at his behest.

“You’ve got to help me, Mikey,” Aaron implored desperately about half an hour before mummy’s service was scheduled to start at the funeral parlour, “hypnotise me again so that I remain strong for Zac, for you, and most of all for your mummy—my Geri—whom made me promise not to shed even a tear because she insisted it’s not a funeral, but a celebration of her life.”

I sat there hugging him from the side as he bawled his heart’s out. For the first time our roles reversed. I can recall so many occasions with perfect clarity where I was the one undergoing the waterworks while he quietly stood by me: scraping my knee as I fell off the mountain bike when I was eight, spraining my right ankle when the opponents played dirty during my first junior football (or ‘soccer’) league at ten, practically pooing in my pants while attempting rock climbing in the wild for the first time with him at eleven. Waterworks notwithstanding, Aaron instilled in me a deep and genuine love for the outdoors since he came into mummy’s life when I was seven. In many ways, Aaron was the flesh-and-blood embodiment of my favourite TV adventurer and hero Bear Grylls. His three-year stint in the Army from late teens till the early twenties taught him many survival skills which he happily imparted onto me during our annual summer wild camping and hiking weekends to the Lake or Peak Districts.

Truth be told, I had never witnessed Aaron cry like this before. He DID shed a tear or two when Emma was born eighteen months ago, but that was an entirely different context. Then, he was shedding tears of joy and hope. After all, my little half-sister was the tangible fruit of his and mummy’s love for each other.

“Thanks, Mikey,” Aaron spoke again after he sniffed one last time. He picked up the half-empty bottle of mineral water situated between us and doused his face with a splash. Some of the water landed on my newly acquired prized possession, my Sony a7s, which was thankfully a weather-sealed unit.

“Do you…?” he asked while extending his right palm in my direction. I handed him a packet of tissues wordlessly from my blazer pocket. A quick wipe on his face with one and a humongous blow of his nose on another (the sound it made took me slightly by surprise) ended the little heart-wrenching episode as abruptly as it started barely fifteen minutes ago.

“Shall we?” he inquired while he jangled the car keys in front of me with a raised eye brow. I nodded, eyes slightly widened and we both walked to the carpark. Remarkably, Aaron was seemingly back in control, as if the incident at the bench never happened. On our way back I could not help but marvel at his apparent ability to utilise his emotions so efficiently. I was certainly did not hypnotise him to turn his emotions on and off like a switch; I merely delayed it, as per his request. Perhaps managing emotions like a light switch was just another ‘survival skill’ he learnt from the Army?

In any case, Aaron was—and still is—a marvel to me. For a decade now he was the constant and rock solid male figure in my life, one that inspired utter confidence and security for mummy and me.

Mummy was at a pretty low point of her life after she divorced daddy (more about this later). She was already working as a dinner lady for a couple of years at the school I was attending (an all-through school that accepted students from ages three right up till eighteen). At the age of seven I hadn’t yet acquire the habit of writing a daily journal, but I remembered their ‘meet cute’ distinctly.

[“When Aaron Met Geri”]

It was a cold January morning of 2005, first day of school after the Christmas break. We were going to be late for school and mum was cussing under her breath in the car (she was normally quite demure by the way) when we got caught in the morning rush hour on a one-way street. After she finally parked her car in the school compound a full ten minutes after the first bell rang, we made a mad dash for the assembly hall.

And there he was.

Aaron was on the steps leading to the main door of the school building, at eye-level with a little boy who was teary-eyed and clearly distressed.

“Hi there, never seen you before,” mum called out while trying to catch her breath. Aaron looked up and their eyes met for the first time.

“I, erm, yes, it’s first day of school for my son, Zachery,” he found his baritone voice and spoke with a slight Scottish accent. Zac’s whining pulled Aaron’s attention back to him.

“Come now, Zac, you are not a wee boy any more. Be daddy’s little soldier and stay here for a bit, I promise you I’ll be back in the afternoon and we’ll go for some ice-cream, deal?”

“Who’s this brave young man’s head-teacher?” mum inquired while looking at Zac, smiling at him slightly. Aaron scanned the admission letter he was holding and replied, “It’s… Ms Woodhouse, maybe I should go look for her and speak to her about… Gah, no time, I am going to be late for my job interview already!”

“I work here, I’ll bring Zac to Ms Woodhouse,” mum offered sincerely.

“Are you a teacher here?” Aaron asked.

“No, more like a dinner lady, but I know all the teaching staff here very well, especially the head teacher, Ms Woodhouse. Trust me, Zac is in good hands,” she assured.

Aaron was visibly relieved, he turned to Zac again and spoke, “See, buddy, there’s nothing to worry about, we have this kind, beautiful lady here, erm…” he looked up at my now slightly flushed mummy again, who promptly replied, “Ms Middleton.” “Ms Middleton, and her, erm, …?”, Aaron turned and faced me quizzically. “Michael, or Mikey if you prefer, ” I helpfully offered with a smile.

Mum decided to take charge and stood down until she was at eye-level with Zac and spoke to him warmly. With an inimitable, comforting tone that she utilised when she wanted to calm me down when I was distressed, she spoke assuringly, “Come here, Zac” as she pried Zac’s tight grip from Aaron’s hand gently and turned him in her direction, “How old are you, young soldier?”

“Six,” Zac replied, looking intently into mummy’s eyes. “Mikey’s seven, and I’ll ask Ms Woodhouse to let him spend some time with you at the assembly, would you like that?”

As if by magic, the female, motherly touch resolved the situation at hand immediately as Zac visibly relaxed and nodded approvingly.

“Let me take this,” I offered and took Zac’s knapsack from Aaron’s shoulder with one hand and held Zac’s hand with the other.

Aaron’s face was incandescent, “Thank you so, so much Ms Middleton! And thank you, Michael. You have no idea how much I appreciate your kindness!”

Both he and mummy stood back up on their feet and only then I noticed Aaron’s impressive stature for the first time. He was tall (easily beyond twice as tall as my seven-year-old self). Even though he was wearing a navy-blue sports jacket over his charcoal grey v-neck sweater with a red-brown-orange tartan check scarf wound seemingly randomly around his neck and a pair of tanned-chinos, you could see that he was in great shape.

“Did you say you are going for a job interview?” mum asked while eyeing his rather casual (smart and very attractively put together, but casual nevertheless) attire.

“Oh, it’s for the job interview at the city’s leisure centre,” he clarified. “I thought I dress less formally, you know, for the post of a fitness instructor,” he said, looking down at himself, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious and sounding a tad unsure if his choice of attire was a good idea after all.

“In that case, you look perfect. Mister…?”

“Campbell. I’m Aaron, the soup-man,” he quipped and grinned, perhaps that was also a smile of relief because his get-up met with mummy’s seal of approval.

Oh, but that smile, and those eyes…

“Call me Geri, the ginger spice,” mum cleared her throat, found her wit and extended her hand for a shake. “Go now, Mr soup-man. Zac will be fine here. I’ll make sure I stay with him after school till you come pick him up again in the afternoon.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Geri! And Mikey, when I return later today, we shall go for ice-cream together!” Aaron promised as he dashed off jubilantly in double-quick pace.

But he promised me and my mum so much more than an ice-cream treat. In fact, merely three months after they met, Aaron vowed to be with mummy “in sickness and in health, till death do us part”…

[“I Want to Be…”]

Hi, I am Michael. You can call me Mike (or Mikey, but only if we are really close). I am seventeen years old and am now on a gap year before I enter University. I hope to pursue Film and Media Studies at the Manchester Metropolitan University, School of Art. I became interested in photo and videography when I received my first camera on my thirteenth birthday, a weather-sealed ‘sports camera’, the Panasonic Lumix DMC-TS3, in metallic blue.

That said, barely a year before that I had a completely different ambition when I grew up. My journal entry on my twelfth birthday recorded that I wanted to be “the best Hypnotist in the world”.

But before I elaborate further regarding my dream of becoming a hypnotist, I feel it expedient to explain my journaling habit a little. In short, I had mummy to thank for instilling this daily routine in me when I was ten. She probably felt that my interests were biased too much towards the great outdoors (thanks mainly to Aaron). In retrospect, I supposed she was just trying to redress this perceived ‘imbalance’ by engaging me with some useful indoor pastimes such as reading and writing on days when the weather was miserable, when outdoor activities would be undesirable. Video games were strictly forbidden in our household, so I had to content with books, pen(cil)s and papers, besides watching my favourite DVDs and other programmes on TV.

When I received an iPad on my twelfth birthday in the summer of 2010, mum suggested that I use it for my daily journaling, so I downloaded Momento from the App Store. I had to admit that that was one of mum’s best suggestions for me, because after five years journaling on my iPad is still my preferred choice by a country mile, especially so since I was increasingly enriching my entries with multi-media files such as photos, audio and video clips…