The following is a story of erotic mind control. Anyone under 18, or opposed to the depiction of erotic situations or mind control scenarios, should read no further. The persons and events herein are entirely fictional, and are not meant to represent anyone or anything in real life.
Of course, everyone knows pro wrestling is a sport marked by the utmost integrity. Therefore, clearly, the situation described wouldn't ever really be allowed to happen even if it were possible. Which, of course, it's not. Listen, would I lie to you?
No wrestlers were harmed in the writing of this story.
Synopsis: A devious diva helps her wrestler boyfriend win matches, without his knowledge.
Glorious George clasped his massively-muscled arms above his head in triumph and bared the gleaming teeth in his handsome face in a smile. Once again, an opponent widely expected to defeat him had gone down.
Sprawled on the mat, his antagonist, known as the Deathmonger, struggled feebly under the foot George had planted on his chest. George's last body slam seemed to have completely dazed him; it was anyone's guess whether the fearsomely-tattooed fighter was even really conscious.
On the sidelines, money changed hands, as it would be doing at betting windows everywhere the Universal Wrestling Federation's bouts were seen.
Mugging for the cameras, George allowed himself to be escorted out of the ring by his beautiful female companion Sapphire. Behind him, the beaten Deathmonger struggled to his feet. As the fallen challenger was ushered away, he bellowed defiantly, "That's one I owe you for, pretty boy! And don't think I won't collect!"
George wasn't worried. He was on a roll lately. He hadn't lost once in his last ten fights. He knew that in some of the other wrestling organizations, matches were rigged, but not in the UWF. As the Universal Wrestling Federation's slogan said: "Real wrestlers, real bouts. Really."
And he was really going to have to train before his next time in the ring. He was scheduled to go up against the Federation's meanest "bad guy," Man-Mountain Marconi. The guy was huge, six-ten and over three hundred pounds, all muscle. George was a pretty big man himself, at six-five and two hundred sixty pounds, but the Man-Mountain was in a different class altogether. What was more, the ugly temper the Man-Mountain showed in his fights wasn't a put-on; he really seemed to enjoy hurting people. George's only edge was that he was faster. If he could outmaneuver the giant, he had a shot. Otherwise . . . George shivered.
In his dressing room, after he'd taken his usual shower, he confided his fears to Sapphire as she expertly massaged his tense muscles. "I don't know, ungh," he said, "if this fight, nnh, was such a great idea. If something goes, nggh, wrong, I could really get hurt."
Sapphire kept up her manipulations as she answered, "You worry too much, honey. You're faster than he is, and you fight smarter. He just relies on brawn--he has to; he hasn't got any brains. You do."
"Mmm," George responded. He could feel himself melting under Sapphire's skillful hands. "Maybe you're right."
"Of course I am," Sapphire said. "Now turn over so I can do your front."
George obeyed. He liked this part. Facing front, he not only got to feel Sapphire unknotting his muscles but also got to see her. She was gorgeous: blonde hair piled in a complicated knot bound with a jeweled net--sapphires, naturally--with a long, wide ponytail dangling down behind; a beautiful face highlighted by bright blue eyes; a spectacular body, with a great rack, slender muscled arms, a taut stomach, flaring hips and long, curvy legs. She was wearing her trademark light-blue harem outfit, studded with more sapphires, and a sapphire pendant hung between her breasts. Blue ceramic bracelets and several sapphire rings completed the costume. The gems weren't real, of course--except for the pendant, which cost more than the rest of her outfit combined--but they were very good fakes.
"You're a star, baby," Sapphire told him as she worked. "No, don't watch my hands, honey, look at my eyes when I'm talking to you, just feel what my hands are doing, feel your muscles relaxing, yes, that's right, listen to my voice and look into my eyes, my sapphire eyes, as you feel the relaxation spreading through you from my hands, yes, that's right. . . ."
George kept looking into Sapphire's eyes as her hands kneaded his flesh. His own eyes began to feel heavy, their lids drooping as Sapphire kept talking. "Just relax, yes, I know your eyes are heavy, so heavy, you're so tired, you've worked so hard, it's okay to be tired, okay to let yourself rest, listen to Sapphire, baby, rest, relax, yes."
George's eyes closed completely and his head lolled sideways. Sapphire smiled.
"That's right, baby, relax, listen to Sapphire and relax, don't fight it, relax, let the warm soothing relaxation take you away, far, far away, sleep until Sapphire says 'wake up, baby.'"
"Sleep until . . . Sapphire says . . . 'wake up, baby,'" George murmured. He was totally relaxed now.
"And when you wake up, you won't remember how Sapphire put you to sleep, you won't remember falling asleep looking into Sapphire's eyes and listening to her voice and feeling the soothing relaxation from her massage, but you'll feel relaxed, refreshed and confident," the beautiful woman told him. "Later we'll go out to eat, someplace nice, and then we'll go back to my place for the night."
George repeated her words in a sleepy mumble.
"That's good, baby," Sapphire said. "Now just sleep, rest, until your Sapphire wakes you up."
George said nothing. In a few moments, his breathing had settled into the deep, regular pattern of a sound slumber.
Sapphire gazed down at him fondly. She let George sleep for a half hour, watching over him the whole time, before ruffling his hair and saying, "Wake up, baby. It's time to go home."
George's eyes opened. He yawned and sat up, then said, "Wow, I must have been more tired than I thought."
"That's all right, honey," Sapphire assured him. "Just go on home now and rest."
"Okay," the wrestler said. Then, just as if it had been his own idea, he added, "Maybe we can go out to eat later. Someplace nice."
"I'd like that," replied the diva.
That night, at Sapphire's apartment, George's doubts surfaced again.
"Listen, Sapph baby," he said, "I know there's a lot riding on next week's bout with Marconi. But let's face it, the guy is fuckin' HUGE! What if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing will go wrong," the beautiful diva assured him. "You'll beat him, just like you beat Deathmonger today. Wasn't I right about that one, baby?"
"Yes," George reluctantly admitted. "But--!"
Sapphire shushed him, pressing two slender figures against his lips to close them. "No buts, honey," she decreed. "Don't spoil the mood."
With her free hand, she reached into her cleavage. When she pulled it out again, it was cradling her diva costume's sapphire pendant. George didn't remember ever seeing her wear it with ordinary clothes before.
"You're a star, baby," she told him, just as she had that afternoon while she'd massaged him. "Sapphire's star." Dangling the pendant's chain between her fingers, she started it swinging gently. George's eyes followed it automatically. Seeing that, Sapphire smiled.
"Sapphire's star," she repeated. "Strong, bright, pure. Like the star at the center of the sapphire in this pendant. It's in the very center, honey, deep, you have to look carefully to see it, look deep, yes, that's right, deep. . . ."
"Look deep," George repeated, eyes locked on the swinging stone as it caught the light, sending bright blue-white flashes at him.
"Deeper, honey," Sapphire crooned. "Deeper. Go deeper. Deeper into the stone, searching for the star at its center. Go deeper, relax and go deeper, yes, relax and go deeper."
"Deeper," George murmured. "Relax and . . . go deeper." His face had relaxed into a little-boy softness.
"Deeper, even deeper, until you can finally see the star. Can you see the star now, George?"
"Yes," George whispered. "I see the star."
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Sapphire coached him. "So bright, so blue. It fills your eyes, your mind; there's no room in your thoughts anymore for anything but the beautiful sapphire star and the voice of your own beautiful Sapphire. That's right, isn't it, George honey?"
"Yes. . . ." responded George. Everything Sapphire said was true. The star was beautiful, and filled his vision, filled his head, until he could see nothing else and the only thing he heard was Sapphire's beautiful voice.
"You know you're asleep now, don't you, George? Asleep in a beautiful dream of blue, and your Sapphire's voice."
"Yes," said George, very softly. "Asleep." His eyes closed, but he could still see the dazzling star swinging gently back and forth.
Sapphire tucked her secret weapon away. George was very susceptible; she'd put him under often enough that his mind readily responded to her inductions. It was all for his own good, of course.
"Now George," she said, "in a moment, I'm going to snap my fingers. When I do, you're going to wake up. You won't remember that I put you to sleep, won't remember being asleep. You won't remember your worries about the fight next week, and won't think about them again. All you'll think about is me, and how much you want to take me to bed and screw till we don't remember our own names." Sapphire giggled.
"Yes, Sapphire," George intoned.
The blonde beauty snapped her fingers.
George blinked. His eyes focused on Sapphire, and a lewd smile spread across his face. Sapphire smiled right back. They reached for each other.
The two of them had been sitting on Sapphire's big plush couch. They didn't bother moving to the bed in the next room, just hurled off their clothes and moved together. George plunged into Sapphire as she clamped her arms and legs tightly around him, digging into his muscular back with her long fingernails. She guided him, controlling his body's reactions with her own flesh, ensuring that he would climax with her. When it finally happened, the sensation was shattering; both of them cried out at once, then slumped back. A few minutes later, they were off on a second round. They finished a third before, exhausted at last, they dropped off to sleep, bodies twined together.
In the morning, after breakfast, George went home smiling.
As she watched her lover drive off, Sapphire sighed. George was so sweet, so clean-cut. Really, he wasn't suited to this line of work; he was too honest to play the kinds of games it called for. He actually thought the UWF didn't fake its fights! And his manager, Bernie Caplan, played along with him. George needed someone like her to take care of the unpleasant side of things.
The devious diva considered her next move.
Getting rid of George's anxieties would help, she thought, but he'd been right: they didn't call his upcoming opponent "Man-Mountain" for nothing. And Marconi didn't always stick to the script, either. He'd crippled a guy for life last year, snapping his back over one knee; the UWF had paid out a humongous settlement. She didn't want anything like that to happen to her boyfriend.
Fortunately, she knew just what to do.
George spent the next several days training aggressively. He was no longer worried about the fight; he knew he could win, if he kept in peak condition. He didn't think about how much bigger Marconi was.
Finally, late in the afternoon of the day before the scheduled bout, George decided to stop in to see his opponent. There was no special reason; George was a friendly sort, and often dropped in on other wrestlers before a match. Most of them didn't mind; their grappling in the ring was just business, after all, not some personal vendetta, even if UWF promoters liked to play it up differently.
Of course, Man-Mountain Marconi wasn't like most of the Federation's other wrestlers; he was genuinely mean. Just the same, George didn't see any reason he couldn't have a polite conversation with the man before they fought.
He wasn't prepared for what he saw when he got to Marconi's apartment.
As he closed his hand around the knob of the door to the giant wrestler's suite, he heard two indistinct voices on the other side. One of them was recognizably Marconi's. The other was female, and seemed oddly familiar.
When he opened the door, he found out why.
It was Sapphire.
She was dressed in her ringside harem outfit, and sitting astride a seated Marconi, looking into his eyes intently. "That's right," she was saying, "relax, and listen to my voice, big man, relax, and listen, and trust my voice, trust what I tell you. You do trust me, don't you? Of course you do."
"Of course . . . I do," Marconi rumbled. "Trust you. . . ."
The huge man was sitting slumped in a chair which looked as if it could barely take his weight, let alone his and that of the gorgeous girl now straddling him. His tree-trunk arms were hanging limp at his sides, and his head was slightly bowed. He seemed almost asleep. For some reason, that seemed to remind George of something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. After a second or two, he gave up trying.
The floor creaked as George came in. Sapphire looked around and saw him.
Instantly, she hurled herself off of Marconi. "George!" she cried in dismay. "What are you doing here?"
"Me?" George was astonished. "What are you doing here?"
"It's not what it looks like, George honey," Sapphire said. The usually self-possessed blonde was clearly flustered.
George felt his face heating up. "Then what the hell is it, Sapphire HONEY?" he demanded.
"I was just having a little talk with Marconi," explained Sapphire. "Persuading him to hold back a little tomorrow. I don't want you getting hurt, baby."
"What do you mean, hold back? Are you telling me you were trying to talk him into throwing the match?" George was nearly shouting.
Then he took a closer look at his intended antagonist, who was still sitting limply in his chair, arms dangling and head bowed. A little drool was seeping from one corner of Marconi's mouth, and his eyes were glassy and half closed. "What the hell's wrong with him?"
"Nothing," Sapphire said. "He'll be fine. I was just helping him relax, so he'd listen to what I had to say."
"Helping him relax?" George felt as if he'd been clubbed from behind. This couldn't be happening! "What'd you do to him, slip him a mickey or something?"
Sapphire reached into her cleavage and pulled out her jeweled pendant.
"Nothing like that," she assured her boyfriend. "Do you remember this pendant, George baby?" Stepping closer, she held the ornament up, dangling it so that it caught the light as it had when she'd shown it to Marconi before George had arrived.
"Uh, yes," George said, feeling suddenly off-balance. "It's part . . . part of . . . your regular . . . costume." He had to fight to find the words; the glittering gem seemed to fill his eyes and mind with bright blue sparkles, making it hard to think. "Your regular . . . c-c-costume."
Sapphire, watching him, smiled. "That's right, George baby. It is."
She stepped even closer and, setting the gem gently swaying, went on: "It's eye-catching, isn't it? That's why it's part of my costume: it catches the attention, focuses the attention, makes people concentrate on me."
"Concentrate on you," George repeated.
"That's right, George baby," Sapphire said, pressing her advantage. "Concentrate on me. Concentrate on my voice, and on the beautiful sapphire stone. Do you remember what you can see when you concentrate on the stone and look deep into it, very deep?"
"Star," George mumbled. "Sapphire . . . star."
"That's right, George," the bewitching blonde responded. "Look into the stone until you can see the star. Deeper, go deeper, until you can see the star. Deeper. Deeper. . . ." She paused. "Do you see the star now, George baby?"
"Yes, Sapphire," George whispered.
"That's good, George baby," said Sapphire soothingly. "Let the star's brightness fill your eyes, fill your mind, until there's room for nothing else, except my voice."
"Nothing else," murmured the now deeply hypnotized wrestler, "except your voice."
"That's right, George," Sapphire purred. "Now tell me, baby, tell your Sapphire why you came here tonight."
"Yes, Sapphire," George responded obediently. "I came here tonight . . . to pay a friendly visit . . . before the fight. To show Marconi . . . there's nothing personal . . . about it."
Sapphire shook her head. Only her George would do something like that--make nice with a rabid gorilla like Marconi before taking him on in the ring. It was part of why she loved him.
It was also really stupid. George was so lucky to have her to save him from his own innocent impulses.
She thought for a moment and then said, "George honey, I'm going to snap my fingers. When I do, you will leave this apartment. As soon as you leave, you will wake up and go straight home to rest. You've got a big day tomorrow. You will not remember what you saw and heard here, what happened here. Instead, you will remember that you spoke briefly with Marconi, but that he was rude to you and you left. You didn't see me here at all. Do you understand, and will you do as your Sapphire tells you to do? Repeat my instructions if you understand and will do as I've told you to do."
"Yes, Sapphire. I understand." George's voice was barely audible. "When you snap your fingers . . . I will leave this apartment. When I leave, I will . . . go straight home to rest. I've got . . . a big day tomorrow. I will not remember . . . what I heard and saw here, or what . . . happened here. I will remember that I . . . spoke briefly with Marconi, but . . . he was rude and . . . I left. I didn't see you here . . . at all."
"Perfect," was Sapphire's judgment. She snapped her fingers.
George, oblivious to everything but the script now running in his head, obeyed her instructions and left, closing the apartment door carefully behind him.
"Now," the harem-garbed hypnotist said, sitting back down on Marconi and clamping her thighs firmly around his legs, "where were we?"
The morning of his scheduled bout with Man-Mountain Marconi, George woke feeling rested and confident. The work he'd put in since his last time in the ring had left him sharp and ready. Marconi would have the edge in weight and reach, but George was sure he could outmaneuver the larger man; Marconi depended too much on his size, and not enough on speed and skill.
George's breakfast was a light one, as was usually the case the day of a match. So was his lunch. After lunch, he had a massage session with Sapphire which, as usual, left him feeling loose and relaxed.
The bout started badly. As the spectators watched, Marconi lunged at George, moving faster than the other had anticipated, and grabbed him. Effortlessly, the giant hoisted him over his head, obviously preparing for a bone-breaking body slam. George twisted desperately in the Man-Mountain's grip, looking for a way to get free.
Suddenly Marconi hesitated, loosening his hold. George squirmed and managed to deliver a chop to his opponent's bull neck, hoping to at least make him feel it.
Astonishingly, Marconi bellowed in pain and dropped his captive, who managed to hit the canvas braced for the impact. As George staggered to his feet, Marconi stood still, as if deliberately waiting for him.
George, of course, was a wrestler, not a mind reader. So he had no clue as to what was going on behind the Man-Mountain's hooded gaze.
The moment you get George in a hold he can't break, Sapphire's voice echoed in Marconi's brain, you will suddenly feel yourself growing weaker. You will be unable to hold him after that, and if he hits you, it will feel as if you were being hit by someone even stronger than you are. George is stronger than you are. And you will be unable to catch him again; George is too fast for you.
"Yes, Sapphire," the giant had agreed meekly as Sapphire worked on him the night before. "When I get George in a hold he can't break . . . I will get weaker. I won't . . . be able to hold him after that. If he hits me . . . it will feel as if . . . I'm being hit by someone even stronger than I am. I won't be able to . . . catch him again; George is . . . too fast for me."
The voice continued: You will try as hard as you can to win, but you will lose, because George is stronger than you are, faster than you are. When you fight, George is stronger than you are, faster than you are. You can't win against George.
"Can't win against George," the Man-Mountain mumbled in the ring, as he had while under Sapphire's spell. "When we fight . . . George is . . . stronger than I am. Faster than I am." The words came out by reflex; Marconi was not even aware he was speaking.
George heard only an unintelligible rumble, and paid it no attention. All he cared about was that his huge opponent seemed off-balance, allowing him to turn the tables.
Marconi lunged at him again, but this time he was slower. George easily sidestepped, sticking out a foot. Obligingly, Marconi tripped over it, crashing to his hands and knees.
He got up, roaring, and hurled himself at George. Again George dodged, this time planting an elbow in Marconi's kidneys as the behemoth lumbered past. Marconi howled and doubled over; George raced behind him and pushed, and the bigger fighter toppled over face-first.
This time he got up more slowly. Blood was leaking from his nose. The crowd was going wild; they hadn't expected an upset like this. Marconi was furious. No one made a fool of him like this!
Unfortunately for him, the fix was in, buried in his own brain by the beautiful Sapphire. He didn't remember her being in his rooms any more than George remembered finding her there, but that didn't matter. He had been commanded to lose, and even though he had no memory of it, he obeyed, sabotaging himself with every move he made.
Finally, exhausted and bloodied, he fell to the mat. George leaped on top of him and locked his right arm around Marconi's throat, using the left to pin Marconi's own right arm behind his back. The Man-Mountain flopped weakly in his grip, but couldn't break free. His muscles seemed to have turned to mush. George's chokehold seemed impossibly tight; the giant couldn't seem to breathe. Spots began to dance before his eyes.
"One!" a voice called out. Head swimming from lack of oxygen, Marconi barely recognized it as the ref's.
"Two!" The Man-Mountain gasped. He was being counted out! He struggled frantically to escape, but it didn't do any good.
"Three!" It was over. "And the winner is . . . Glorious George!"
Suddenly the choking arm was gone. Marconi's head thumped to the mat. He lay there gasping, humiliated, as George rose to his feet and stood over him, arms raised in victory and one foot on his fallen foe's back.
It was impossible, Marconi thought. Somehow, the runt--he thought of practically all his adversaries that way--had beaten him. He didn't remember the feminine voice which had drowned his thoughts, didn't remember what it had commanded or how he had helplessly obeyed. All he knew was that he had lost.
Watching from the sidelines, Sapphire smiled sweetly. Her George had won, just as she'd planned.
Of course, it hadn't really been a fair fight. Her post-hypnotic suggestions had set Marconi up to lose the moment it looked as if he might be about to win. The only way they wouldn't have kicked in was if George had been able to win easily all by himself, and Sapphire wasn't stupid; she knew there'd been no real chance of that.
George wouldn't be happy if he found out what she'd done. He'd be even less happy if he learned she'd been doing it all along. He wanted to win fair and square--but there was too much chance of his getting hurt that way. That was why she'd been fixing his fights with her hypnotic skills--for his own good.
Of course, if he did find out, she could make him forget. For his own good, of course.
For now, though, she had more pleasant things to consider. She hurried along toward George's dressing room; he'd need another massage after his exertions, and then they'd go to dinner and then back to her place. She felt warm all over, just thinking about it.