The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Don’t blink.”

Amy jumped, spun. An auburn-headed girl was decorating the couch with herself, sprawled out lazily, looking at her. A book lay open in her lap. The couch faced away from the door; Amy hadn’t seen her as she entered.

“Jesus Christ. How long have you been there?”

“All afternoon. You should be more aware of your surroundings. You wouldn’t make a very good ninja.” The girl appeared to size her up for a moment, conclude that she was, in fact, not ninja material, then went back to her book. It was Allison, Celia’s dike girlfriend.

“Great. Where’s Celia?”

“She’ll be home soon. And I said, ’don’t blink’. That’s how she gets ya.”

“This is good, because I was getting tired of talking to people that made sense.” She didn’t need this shit. She made for the door.

“Just trying to help. I know why you’re here. It’s so Celia can try to hypnotize you, right? Well, don’t blink.”

Amy stopped.

“Go on.”

“She’ll start talking about how dry the air is. How dry, like the desert, and how much pollen is in the air, irritating your eyes. And about how, if you just blinked a few times, they’d feel so much better.

“So you blink, but it doesn’t stop, because Celia’s still describing it. In fact, it gets worse. Your eyes start to water, and you wish the itching would just stop. You blink again, then again; you keep doing it, just trying to make it go away so you can see. It’s maddening, incessant. And then, eventually, your eyes just close, because having them shut feels so much better...

“Then she’s got you. She snaps her fingers and you wake up. An hour has passed, and you lose.” Allison grinned.

“Is that so,” Amy said dryly.

“It is.” She said it so simply, so matter-of-factly. Like a child explaining how if you swallowed gum, it would get stuck in your stomach for seven years.

Amy walked over to the couch and leaned over, putting her hands on her knees, so that she was literally talking down to the freckled girl. It was the universal mom has something to explain to you pose.

“I know you think your girlfriend is just the bee’s knees,” she said, pushing her lower lip out the teeniest bit, “and there’s nothing wrong with having a special friend! But in the real world, your girlfriend is a fucking fraud, and I’m going to prove it.”

Allison smiled at her.

“And since you’re obviously crushing so hard on her, why would I believe you want to help me, even if I needed help, which is hilarious all by itself?”

“Maybe I’m a little jealous. I like having her to myself,” Allison’s voice softened. “There’s something intimate about it. Her voice in your thoughts, her mind guiding yours... the power tradeoff. The idea of her doing it to someone else bugs me. Especially to a skank like you.”

The two girls flashed smiles at each other that were so acidic, the paint in the room peeled a little bit.

“She won’t be doing anything to me.”

“I don’t doubt that in the least.”

The strangeness of this comment was not lost on Amy.

The ball of the situation had started rolling a week before, at a party. The events had cascaded since then, but, it began with Celia and another girl, bored, in a back room of some frathouse, when Celia said

“Wanna see a magic trick?”

The girl looked at her as if she’d just been offered some poo on a stick.

“I know,” Celia groaned, “Cheesy. I’m just so bored.”

“Yeah, this shit has been old since I was a freshman,” the girl laughed.

The room was off to the side of the house, away from the rest of the party. One girl was tallish, sandy-haired, wearing a T-shirt that read “DUKE SUCKS”. The other, a bit shorter, was dark haired, dark eyed, olive skinned. She was wearing comfortable jeans and some sort of purple silk drape that had been wrapped about her top half and pinned there. It looked exotic.

“Celia,” she offered her hand.

“Lindy.”

“So, who dragged you here?”

“My boyfriend.” She pointed out to the main room where a group of fratboys were standing around a keg chanting chug! chug! chug!

“Which one is he?”

“At the moment it’s hard to tell.” Both girls laughed. “He’s the one in the red shirt making an ass of himself.”

“Ah.”

“How about you? Who dragged you here?”

“Girlfriend.” She pointed beyond the keg to the far corner, where a gaggle of girls danced drunkenly. “She’s the one in the white babydoll dress making an ass of herself.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” the blonde said, possibly convincing herself that it was, in fact, cool to talk to a lesbian. She seemed to arrive at the conclusion that it was. Maybe her boyfriend would even think she was one, that she’d been experimenting or something. Guys thought that stuff was hot. She brightened.

“I keep waiting for her to shave her head and buy a motorcycle, but she’s still one step away from carrying a pink lunchbox,” Celia said, eerily aware of the other girl’s thoughts. Lindy laughed.

“Ok. Show me this party trick.”

Celia reached down beside the couch where there was a pile of (very forgotten) textbooks and grabbed one of the larger ones. She tore the blank inner page out and put it on the coffee table in front of them.

The trick was an old standby she’d learned years ago when she’d first taken up psychology. It wasn’t “magic” per say; it was supposed to be used as a demonstration of autosuggestion, or as a suggestibility test. But, the effect was magical enough to get some oohs and aahs if the situation was desperate enough, and this lameass shindig qualified.

She found a loose thread in her “shirt” and pulled it out. Then she took off one of her rings and tied the thread to it, forming a makeshift pendulum. She handed it to Lindy, who took it skeptically.

“This is called Chevreul’s Pendulum”, Celia said, turning her attention to the blank sheet of paper. She drew a wide circle on it, then crossed the circle with two intersecting lines: one vertical, the other horizontal, so that it resembled the scope of a sniper’s rifle, or a pizza with four very large slices. “Hold the pendulum over the center of that, with the ring about an inch above the paper.”

“Ok. When do you make it disappear?”

“It’s not that kind of trick! Just look at this line.” She ran the pencil back and forth across the center line, for emphasis.

“Trace the line back and forth with your eyes. As you do, imagine that the ring is beginning to swing along with them. Picture it happening.

“It will start slowly, so that you can hardly tell it’s moving. Then it will gradually pick up speed until it’s moving along the entire length of the line. Following your eyes.”

Lindy furrowed her brow.

“Don’t try to move it with your hand, or not move it. It will happen on its own. Move it with your eyes, and with your mind.”

Nothing happened.

Then, something happened. The ring began to wobble faintly, left to right. Lindy gasped... and as she did, it was as if the gasp gave it permission to start moving for real: it picked up speed, back and forth: one inch, then two, then four. The girls watched together as the pendulum traced the entire length of the line, swinging back and forth from end to end. It never went beyond the ends of the line; it seemed to know that it was supposed to stop there.

“Wow...” Lindy said. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” Celia winked. “If you think that’s cool, watch this. Are you ready?”

“Uh huh.”

“In a moment it will stop following the horizontal line and start moving along the vertical. It will happen seamlessly, without losing any speed. As it crosses the center it will make almost a perfect right angle turn. You’ll push it, with your eyes and your mind, without ever moving your hand.

“Get ready, it’s about to happen. Almost... almost...

“Now.”

As if obeying her words, the pendulum did exactly what Celia had described. As it crossed the center the ring looked as if it was blown by an invisible gust of wind, off its course and onto the new one, seeming to break the laws of physics and motion for that one moment. It resumed its perfect arc, up and down instead of back and forth.

“Whoa...”

“Neat, huh?”

The “trick” was that the girl was doing it herself, of course. It was autosuggestion. The reason a pendulum worked so well was that it was down at the end of a string, and the tiniest vibration of the hand could, eventually, send it flying all over the place. It was a great way to show how a simple suggestion could have a huge effect. Or impress people at parties.

Celia glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye. Lindy was wide-eyed, fascinated. It was a not uncommon reaction once someone got to this point.

“In a moment it will leave that line and begin following the circle, counter-clockwise. It will do it right as it reaches the top of its arc. Just like before, it will happen seamlessly, jumping from one line to the next without slowing down. You don’t have to try to make it happen; you know that it will. Get ready...

“Now.”

The ring looked like someone had snatched it out of midair and sent it spinning, tracing the circle an inch above the paper. The effect was spooky even to Celia. It held to the line perfectly, gliding on invisible rails.

“Good. You’re good at this.”

Lindy smiled faintly, an onlooker at a circus show. Her hand was motionless, her arm rigid. The ring made its revolutions in a steady rhythm, at about the same speed as a heartbeat. Celia watched her with interest for thirty, forty, sixty seconds, sometimes reinforcing the idea that she could move the ring with her mind, but mostly just observing.

Lindy’s eyes followed the ring, but otherwise, she was inanimate. Normally, trying to hold one’s arm straight out like that for even a full minute would be tiring; at the very least it’d move a little, or shake from the strain, but she showed no fatigue. Her sandy ponytail showed not the slightest hint of bobbing, which would’ve happened if her head had twitched even a little (it’s like a pendulum for the back of your head! Celia thought goofily). Her T-shirt was stretched against her shoulder; Celia could see the muscle through the fabric. It wasn’t straining or flexing. Gravity had stepped out for lunch.

Fascinating, said Celia’s inner Spock voice.

“You’re doing really well,” Celia repeated. Those were the real magic words. “In a moment, the ring is going to start rotating the other way, clockwise. It will simply stop and go the other way. Never leaving the line.

“Now.”

Although it had already happened twice, the effect was still surprising. The ring did exactly that.

Celia studied the sandy blonde’s face with interest: she’d stopped responding, seemingly content to just watch the “trick” play itself out. One minute, two passed. The ring’s heartbeat rhythm never changed. Lindy’s expression had, though; the look of wide-eyed wonder had since faded to a more blank sort of focus. Not the steely, “grr, I’m a mountain climber and I must make it up this rock!” kind of focus: more of a TV watching focus.

Celia knew that look.

Three minutes. No change, not the slightest flick of the ponytail, twitch of the wrist, shift of weight.

She’d read about this, but she’d never seen it first hand. Chevreul’s Pendulum wasn’t just a demonstration of autosuggestion; it was also sometimes used as an induction all by itself.

Oh come on, you already knew that. It’s not “sometimes” an induction, it’s always an induction. You just wanted to see if it actually worked.

The induction wasn’t caused by watching the pendulum swing, she mused; that would just be a normal induction (and you probably wouldn’t want the subject to be the one holding it). Rather, it was the fact that it was swinging that began it. Seeing someone’s words become real right in front of you—literally—was like... well, it was like magic. The mind automatically shifts into a more suggestive state than it was in before, responding to the fact that it’s responding. Each time the pendulum changed direction it became more real. Circular logic, but, not everything the mind does makes sense.

It was like television; every time you turn it on, your mind makes that little leap of faith, suspending disbelief. Once you’ve accepted that, say, vampires exist (for the purposes of the show), then you’re free to enjoy the rest of it. And the next leap of faith, and the next.

Of course, she wasn’t planning on actually hypnotizing the girl. True, she probably could, while Lindy was in this “fascinated” state (Celia had no better word for it, but it fit). But she was only halfway there. To take her all the way, Celia would have to say something like

“Let your eyes leave the ring and rest on the center of the page, where the lines cross.”

Yeah, like that.

“The ring will keep swinging on its own. It doesn’t need your eyes to push it anymore. Let them rest in the center.” Lindy’s eyes drooped and her shoulders sagged, but the arm that held the pendulum did not budge. Then she began to tip forward, tilting to the right somewhat comically, because while the rest of her body was starting to lean, the arm with the pendulum stayed put. Celia put a hand on the girl’s shoulder to stop her from falling over.

Whoa.

“You’re not going to fall,” Celia’s voice was soft, firm. “Your body will stay just as it is now.”

It did.

Well, what now?

She didn’t exactly agree to being hypnotized...

It’s part of the trick! Shut up, me!

“You’ll start to notice that everything outside the circle is fading away. Each time the ring circles, on the perimeter of your vision, it gets a little bit darker outside.” She timed her next words to match the beat of the pendulum: “Darker. Good. Darker.”

“Darker.

“Good.

“It will swing around three more times, and on the third time, it will be completely black outside of the circle. One. Two. Three, completely black. It’s a long dark tunnel, with the circle at the end.”

Lindy’s eyelids sank to half mast. Her chest rose and fell gently beneath the “DUKE SUCKS” T-shirt.

Celia reflected on what a physical feat it was to maintain the posture—not to mention the perfectly timed rhythm of the ring—that Lindy had for almost 10 minutes. The girl deserved some rest.

“It’s getting dark inside the circle now, too. Each time the ring goes around, step by step. And as the light fades, your eyes begin to close along with it. Round and round... dimmer with each revolution...”

The girl’s eyes began to close almost before Celia had finished the sentence.

“Good. Almost there. It’s so dim that you can barely see it. It’s going to go around just three more times, Lindy. On the third, your eyes can finally close. When they do, you will let out a breath and your arm will drop. All at once. There it goes... One, two,

“Three.”

Lindy sighed, and the energy left her so visibly, it was like she had been unplugged. Her arm dropped, limp; her eyes closed; her head nodded forward. For a moment Celia was worried she would fall over again.

Celia considered telling her to lie back, but, in this state, she was worried the girl might slide right to the floor. She stood up and put her hands on Lindy’s shoulders. The girl was obviously athletic; you could see the tone just looking at her; but at the moment, she may as well have not had a muscle in her body. She felt like putty in Celia’s hands, literally: soft and yielding.

“I’m going to lean you backwards,” Celia said. “When you feel the couch cushions on your back, it will be safe to let your body relax. When that happens, you will let out another breath, deeper this time, and every bit of worry and tension in your entire body will go with it.”

Celia guided her backwards and the girl melted into the couch. Celia looked her over.

Hot, but not my type.

Now why would you even think a thing like that?

She put her hand on the girl’s forehead and gently, very gently, lifted her head until it fell back against the cushion. If ya sleep like that, you’ll wake up with a kink in your—

“Whatcha doin,” a voice said from the doorway.

Celia spun. It was Allison, looking a little tipsy. And striking, in her white babydoll dress, the color of which was just barely lighter than the legs it wasn’t even pretending to conceal. And a little dubious about what she was seeing.

“Hey Baby. It’s not my scene out there.” She whispered some final instructions to the girl: sleep deeper, hear nothing until Celia spoke directly to her again. Then she crossed the room to Allison, slipping her hands about her thin waist and kissing her. The kiss was mostly, but not entirely, returned.

“Just having a little fun.”

“I can see.”

“Not like that,” Celia rolled her eyes over-exaggeratedly.

“Uh huh. Like how?” She raised her eyebrows, looking over Celia’s shoulder.

“I was just bored, so I decided to show Lindy here a little trick I learned freshman year.”

“Oh, that trick.” Eyebrows still up.

“Honestly, I didn’t even start out trying to hypnotize her. It’s just this stupid thing with a pendulum, magicians and mystics used to do it because it looks all spooky, moving all on its own. They would say it was a ghost or something doing it, but really the person does it themselves.”

“And then she fell into a deep trance, all on her own, totally on accident! I get it.” Allison smiled to show she wasn’t really mad. And she wasn’t. She’d just been... thrown. Walking in on your girlfriend having sex with someone else, that was one thing. But hypnotizing someone, that was...

Intimate.

“Want me to show you?” Celia grinned.

Allison blushed. It lit up her face. Rather than hiding her freckles, it accentuated them.

“Not here,” she whispered without meaning to.

But she softened, and they kissed, genuinely this time. Then, breaking it off, she looked over the tanned shoulder at the limp girl on the couch. So peaceful, so unaware. She pressed her cheek against Celia’s.

“Is that what I look like? When I’m... under?” she said into Celia’s ear.

“You look beautiful,” Celia said into hers.

“She’s beautiful.”

“You’re ethereal. They don’t have a word for what you are.” They looked at each other. “If they had the word, it would mean: So heartbreakingly perfect that I’m afraid to look away, because if I do you might move, just the tiniest bit, and I would have missed it, and after having seen you just once, missing that tiniest thing would be like death.”

Allison blushed all over her body. Celia could feel it through the thin dress; the fairer girl’s skin was hot to the touch. She radiated. They leaned together until their foreheads touched.

“Take me out of here,” Allison breathed.

Celia took her by the waist and spun her towards the wall as if she were made of straw. Their hands tangled together. She pressed, kissing, until Allison felt she would be pushed through the plaster. Her lips were hot, fever hot. She wrapped one ivory leg around Celia’s hips, pulling their bodies together. The babydoll dress bunched up around her waist easily as she slid the leg up; anyone watching would have gotten quite a show.

But the only one here is Lindy, and she can’t see us, Allison thought. She imagined locking the door, letting Celia take her right here, right now, while Lindy lay there a few feet away, unaware, unable to wake up, with that perfectly empty look on her face, and was that what she looked like when—

Her knees went weak; her hips slid down against Celia’s. She clung with the one leg, hanging on; the darker girl held her up against the wall. She whimpered into the other woman’s mouth.

“Ok...” Celia breathed between kisses, “Let’s go... I should... wake her first...”

“Wait... Celia... does that... door lock?”

Celia narrowed her eyes. They looked at each other, noses touching. She understood.

They agreed silently, instantly, without a moment’s hesitation.

She reached out, felt the knob, the brown eyes never leaving the green ones inches away. There was a lock. The click as she pressed it seemed loud, impossibly loud, cutting through the din of the party outside, through their breathing, through the both of them.

What if she wakes up?

She won’t.

Celia’s silk almost-shirt-thing was coming apart, starting to unravel, showing caramel stomach and shoulderblade. That skin. Allison had to see the rest of that skin. She pulled at it, tore it off, breaking the pin, throwing the drape across the room, and just like that Celia was naked from the waist up, and for a fleeting second she wondered Why do we both wear things that are so easy to tear off? Is that a symptom of being in love? and then Celia was on her again,

spreading their arms wide apart, dragging their knuckles against the wall, then higher, stretching Allison’s arms up above her head. Then pressed the milky hands against the plaster, hard (stay there), then slithering downwards, snaking her arms up and under the babydoll dress. Then up again, taking the dress with her; over creamy hips and shivering stomach, over delicate ribs and petite breasts with the intense blush that had spread down between them; over freckled shoulders and neck, and that chin—god, that chin—making it slow, like a dance, like a painful dance—over lips, and she held the cotton fabric there for a moment, over her (prey) partner’s eyes, and kissed her, throwing her Mediterranean skin against the whiteness, hearing her whimper,

her arms tangled up in the dress, blindfolded by it, and if she could think she would have thought something about the metaphor, the literal blind need, but she couldn’t think (because of the blind need), and when Celia bit her lip she came right there, against the wall, with the party throbbing on the other side, unaware of the beautiful, beautiful, impossible love that was right behind it. And when Celia ran her caramel fingers down her, into her panties, into her she almost screamed, her knees gave again, and Celia put her hand over her mouth to stop the sound, but that, having a barrier, only made it worse and she came again, shuddering, and then they were sliding down the wall, and she didn’t realize it until she felt the cool carpet on her naked ass, and Celia finally pulled the dress all the way off, and as her eyes opened she saw—

—the girl on the couch, blank, unknowing bystander, and she thought that’s what I look like when Celia makes me go and she came again, her eyes rolling up, and when she opened them again Celia had her soft cheeks in her hands, holding her head up, the dark hands smelling of her, and she saw Celia mouth the words Baby, are you ok? but didn’t hear them. She thought a singular thought as she sat, half dazed in the aftershock, with this Gypsy beauty saying things she she couldn’t hear because of the blood pounding in her ears: want.

Baby?

She lunged at Celia, throwing her backwards, knocking over the coffee table, sending drinks in cheap plastic cups flying, one splashing against the leg of the prostate girl on the couch (who noticed not at all).

“I don’t know how I’m going to get this thing back on,” Celia smiled. “Did you see where the pin went?”

“Over there somewhere,” Allison waved vaguely at the corner, “but I’m pretty sure it’s broken.” She smiled sheepishly.

Celia tried wrapping the drape around herself and tucking it in like a towel, but the silk wouldn’t hold; the slippery material slid right back off.

“That look works for me,” Allison said innocently.

“Me too, but ain’t no fratboys getting a free show from this woman.”

“Here.” Allison picked up the silk thingy and walked around behind her, draping it over her like a toga that stopped at the hips. She tied a knot at the shoulder. It mostly worked, although the side of Celia’s left breast was still somewhat visible. “There. Perfect.”

“As long as I don’t turn left.”

“Side-boob is hot! And perfectly acceptable. Have you seen the fall fashions? All the starlets are doing it.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, then broke at giggling at themselves.

“I guess I should wake her up.”

Yes, you should, or we’re going to end up doing that all over again.

There was a pounding on the door.

“Helloooo? My coat’s in there.” A female voice.

“Good timing?” Allison said.

“Nah, if it had happened before it just would have set you off. You’re a nitroglycerin girl.”

“A what?”

“Once you get all worked up, anything can set you off. I never know what it’s going to be, but when it happens, you just explode. Unpredictable. Like nitroglycerin. You’re a nitroglycerin girl.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Hellloooooooo.” The female voice intruded through the door.

“Oh yeah it’s a compliment.”

“Wake her up!”

“Oh! Right.” Celia went to the quiescent girl and began speaking softly to her.

“Coming!” Allison chirped at the door.

After a few moments Lindy began to blink. Celia helped her to a sitting position, intoning affirmative nothings in her ear. She looked dazed, not quite all there yet; the lights were on but the lady of the house was still on the way to the door.

“HEY. I DON’T CARE WHO IS FUCKING WHO IN THERE. OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR SO I CAN GET MY FUCKING COAT.”

“Jesus, have an aneurysm already!” Allison shouted back.

“That’ll have to do,” Celia said. “She’s not all the way out of it, but she’s presentable.”

“Can’t you just snap your fingers or something?”

“Sure, if I want her to be disoriented and freaked out with that banshee screaming at us. She’s been under a while, sweety. I could do it that way but I’d rather do it right.”

Allison made a halfhearted attempt to fix her hair and opened the door.

It was Amy, resident overprivledged bitch and rich brat. She was—and Allison tried not to giggle while thinking it—but she was actually a cheerleader, for the university football team. She was pretty close to being a living, breathing cliche, right down to the Barbie blond hair, blue eyes, and upturned nose. Her face was withering.

“Amy. I thought that was you, by the acting like you owned the place.”

“Hey look, it’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Dike,” Amy said. “At least you have the decency to stay behind locked doors when you’re out in public.”

“Who’s Butch? Am I supposed to be Butch?” Allison asked with mock dismay. “She’s the butch one.”

“I look butch?” Celia said with real dismay.

“You act butch.”

“Oh, yeah.” Then to Amy: ”I’m Butch.”

“That’s super.” She brushed past Allison towards the pile of coats, almost—but not quite—bumping shoulders as she did. “How about you, Lind? Your social standards have really gone down the tubes since high school. And don’t you have a boyfriend?” She turned away from them and began digging through the pile.

“Say ‘Yes, they have, and yes, I do’,” Celia whispered in Lindy’s ear.

“Yes, they have, and yes, I do,” Lindy parroted.

Amy mumbled something that might have been whatever as she located her coat.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you that thing where you’re like, the tiniest bit polite to people?” Allison asked. It was a genuine question.

Amy turned back and flashed her trademark smile: one part bitch, one part sarcasm, three parts I’m-better-than-you.

“Nice doesn’t apply to carpet munchers.”

Celia’s eyes narrowed. An idea formed and she put it into action within the space of a moment. It started a chain of events that would, in the following weeks, lead nearly to her death, but at the time it just seemed like a funny thing to do. She wouldn’t have done it if Amy had insulted her; but she’d insulted Allison, her baby in the babydoll dress, and that shit didn’t fly.

“Oh my gosh!” She said loudly to Lindy, loud enough that Amy could hear. Her voice rose with mock panic. “Lindy, look at Amy’s shirt! It’s smoking!”

Lindy furrowed her brow dreamily.

“It’s... oh my god, it’s catching on fire! Look! Can you see it?”

Lindy’s eyes went wide with alarm. She gasped, seeing the fire.

“What the hell kind of game are you playing?” Amy spat.

“You have to help her, Lindy! Put it out! Quick, throw your drink on it!”

Lindy picked up her drink from the end table (the one surface in the room that hadn’t been nearly destroyed by the wild monkey sex). The large plastic cup was still full; she hadn’t been doing much drinking over the past hour, after all.

Amy’s jaw dropped as she realized what was about to happen. Without missing a beat, Lindy flung the entire contents of the party cup (it was rum and coke, Celia noted, as the liquid traveled through the air) onto Amy’s chest. It was a direct hit, splashing all over the undoubtedly overpriced outfit. The previously white blouse was soaked through, and the previously white bra beneath it. Amy stood, frozen, dripping.

Three of the women in the room just gaped, not quite believing what had just happened (although one of them for different reasons). The fourth, the one with the Gypsy eyes, smiled meaningfully.

Allison collapsed into hysterics.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Amy bellowed. Lindy was a deer in the headlights, confused and scared.

“Your shirt,” she trembled...

“It’s ok, it’s ok, the fire’s out,” Celia put a hand on her arm. “You got it. You did good, you saved her.”

Lindy smiled dumbly, the fear already forgotten.

Amy glared, too shocked and furious to speak. She was in Celia’s psychology class; she’d been there for her little “demonstration” with Allison. She suddenly understood. The burning eyes turned on Celia.

“You. Cunt.” she said through her teeth.

“It isn’t nice to call people names,” Celia said, dropping the smile as easily as flicking a cigarette butt.

Allison was doubled over, howling with laughter. Her face was one shade away from purple.

“Oh. My. God. That. Didn’t. Just. Happen,” she choked out between breaths.

“Shut the fuck up!“ Amy seized her by the wrist and twisted. Allison yelped, the shriek of laughter turning into a shriek of pain.

“Hands off the redhead,” Celia deadpanned.

Her voice was low, smooth as molasses, deadly serious. It penetrated the room.

The two alpha girls traded glares. For a moment, the prospect of physical violence was tangible.

Amy let go, but not before squeezing the thin wrist, hard: a parting gift. She turned and stalked out, covering her ruined shirt with her coat.

Allison rubbed her wrist.

The ring swung about an inch above the paper, in perfect cadence, tracing the circle; the rhythm was about that of a beating heart.

“Every time it goes around the light gets a little brighter,” a dusky voice floated through Lindy’s thoughts. “You’ll feel as if you’re rising up out of a deep well. Each time it goes around you get a little closer to daylight. The ring will spin around ten more times...

“One.”

Lindy blinked. Celia plucked the makeshift pendulum from her hand.

“Wow.”

“How do you feel?”

“Fantastic. I...” she blushed. “I think I zoned out for a little while there.”

Celia laughed.

“That’s totally normal. You’ve probably figured out by now, the trick is that you were moving the ring yourself the whole time. Most people get so focused on trying to do it, they space out a little.”

Lindy looked up... and saw that they were no longer alone. A thin, pretty redhead was sitting in Celia’s lap.

“Oh! Hi!” she blushed again. “I didn’t even notice you come in, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sneaky like that.”

“You must be Celia’s—”

“My hunny bunny. Lindy, Allison. Allison, Lindy.”

“Pleased ta meetcha!” Allison chirped.

Lindy looked at her watch. “Oh wow, have we been in here that long?” She glanced at the door.

“Don’t worry about your boyfriend,” Allison smirked, “Red shirt, right? I’m pretty sure he’s still puking off the effects of that chug-fest.”

“Yup, that’s the one,” Lindy laughed, bemused. “I should probably go find him. Play the comforting mother figure while he’s sick and all that. They make it easy when they act like such kids, don’t they?”

“They really do.”

She stood and straightened her jean shorts. Not knowing what else to do, she stuck her hand out awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you!”

Celia took it.

“You too.”

Hands off the brunette, Allison thought.

“Hands off the redhead,” Allison sung in a faux-baritone. “You’re so cool.”

Celia rolled her eyes. They were walking home, hand in hand.

“I wish I could... well, sometimes, I wish I could be strong like that.”

“I’m not any stronger than you, ya know.” She raised her arm and flexed to show off her lack of bicep; if there had been any bystanders, they would have gotten a generous display of side-boob.

“You are, though.”

“All in the head, kiddo.”

“Maybe your head.”

“I could teach you,” Celia said slyly. “You know how in the stage hypnotist shows, sometimes they have someone stand with their arms straight out? And they tell them, ‘Your arms are like iron, your arms are like steel’, and then, they have someone try to pull them down, and they can’t? They can even hang off of them, and the person won’t budge. People can be stronger than they are. I could teach ya.”

“Wouldn’t work. Not without you around to make it happen.”

“It’s you that does it, that’s the point.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, we could do that too.” Celia kissed her hand. “If you ever have to defend yourself, just imagine I’m there, telling you how butch you are.”

“Yeah, and all that self-affirming mumbo-jumbo goes right out the window as soon as some skank punches you in the face.”

“Not like that.” Celia stopped. “I mean, if you were ever in trouble, I could make it so that you literally hear my voice and become strong.”

How’s that going to work, when your voice makes me weak?

“I bet you could.” She played with the cinnamon hand.

They walked the rest of the way home in silence.

The Amy situation snowballed out of the party and into psychology class the next day.

The class had been mostly informal discussion. That close to the end of the semester the real lectures were over, grades almost set in stone, theses complete. The feeling of freedom was in the air; it didn’t carry quite the same anticipation as high school graduation, but there was definitely a buzz. Attendance itself was practically optional; the professor had started turning a blind eye to all the empty seats. But both Celia and Amy attended.

The topic was whatever anyone felt like talking about, as long as it stuck loosely to psychology. Naturally, Celia brought up her ideas about hypnosis when it was her turn.

Her theory was: not only was it possible to hypnotize someone without their knowing it, but, given enough time in a controlled setting, against their will. That drew some moans of derision from the class, and from the professor. They’d heard it before; practically every discussion of hypnosis at least touched on the point. It wasn’t possible, it was textbook not possible.

That’s when Amy had called her out as a fraud, and said that Allison had been faking it at the demonstration.

The room had fallen silent, and the conversation, as they say, had gone downhill.

Words were exchanged between the two girls. Also, disparaging references to one another’s womanly attributes. Also, slurs regarding one another’s sexual prowess, the sexual prowess of their entire family, and the sexual prowess of all their future generations. The mating habits of the family dog were briefly touched upon.

The professor drew the line when the discussion began to include suggestions that the other girl go copulate with some farm animals. Then, speculation that farm animal copulation had already taken place. The locations of several local farms were mentioned, with offers to give each other a ride there.

The professor drew the line again. He almost kicked the two girls out, until it occurred to him that telling the two of them to “take it outside” was perhaps not the best idea at that juncture.

Instead, he suggested that they test the theory.

The deal was sealed before he had even finished speaking: both girls agreed instantly. It would be the perfect test. Of the thousands of people on campus, no one was more guaranteed to not fake the results than Amy, and no one was a more unwilling subject.

Rules were made. It had to be a controlled setting, it had to be documented, and time limits were imposed. Celia wanted four hours; Amy said that it wasn’t worth fifteen minutes of her time. Celia suggested that maybe Amy wasn’t the best subject, because with “breasts that fake, who knows what else she’ll fake, aside from the smile”. Amy assured her that not only were they real, but that the reason why Celia wanted to be alone with her was so that she could “play Indigo Girls CDs and feel her up”.

More accusations of farm animal sex were made, and the phrases “fuck you” and “you wish” were overheard.

The professor compromised at a time limit of two hours. Both girls objected, but eventually agreed when it was clear he wouldn’t budge and wasn’t going to waste any more time on it.

Then he kicked them both out of class for the day, sending them out five minutes apart... he didn’t want to be responsible if two of them mauled each other in the hallway.

The men of the class agreed it was the “best class ever”.

Celia slammed the door on the way out. God, she was so stupid. You can’t hypnotize someone against their will. She knew that. She’d just been talking, tossing theories around. But then Amy had used the A word. It was her achilles heel. Amy had sensed it. She was like a fucking wolf when she found a weak spot.

She’d let herself be baited into attempting the impossible.

Dug yourself a nice hole this time, boss. Nice.

Damnit.

“You should leave,” Allison hummed, without looking up from the book. Celia still hadn’t shown.

Amy narrowed her eyes.

“Is that a threat, Ellen? Because I already kicked your ass once, and I’m pretty sure I could take you.”

“You should forget about your stupid bet and leave,” Allison said wearily, ignoring the display of female testosterone. “It’s the end of the semester. Most of these people aren’t coming back. No one’s going to notice or care if you just forget about whatever happened in class the other day.”

“It wasn’t a bet, Strawberry Shortdike. This is my major. This is how it works when you have a real major. You’re an English major, right? Your thesis is what, The Letter Z is Cool? The rest of us have to have actual ideas.”

“You don’t have to play some version of academic chicken,” Allison sighed. “You two, the both of you, are acting like fratboys.”

“I get it. You don’t want me to embarrass your girlfriend. Sorry. She shouldn’t have talked smack to the head of the class. She’s a fraud, and I’m going to prove it.”

The freckled girl looked at her with something like pity.

“Just walk out the door and your life can stay the same as it was,” Allison went on, ignoring her. “You’re about to graduate. Make heaps of money. Make babies. Then make some more money. Never have to look back at some stupid college challenge. Just go.”

That shit was about to get infuriating.

“Newsflash, rainbow parade: your little trip to the island of Lesbos may have been a life changing experience for you, but it’s nothing but an after school special to the rest of us.”

“You’ve really nailed us there, yeah. We’re bent on world domination. We won’t be happy until every stuck up bitch on campus is making out with one another. What will we do now that you have unraveled our twisted plot?”

Amy checked her watch. This twit wasn’t worth her time. Where the hell was Celia?

“What’s funny is how completely you missed the point there. It’s not about me. It’s about you. Celia woke me up to myself, and I love her for it. But you...” Allison looked at her with real disgust. “Someone like you can’t handle an awakening like that. Whatever’s inside should just stay there, because it’s probably ugly and petty and cruel. I don’t want to see it. You don’t want to see it. Celia doesn’t want to see it either, but you went and pissed her off.”

Amy’s right hand balled into a fist, the nails digging into her palm. She debated the pros and cons of kicking the redhead’s ass right there just to shut her up.

But the truth was, she was terrified.

It wasn’t the loss of control if she lost, exactly. It wasn’t even the idea of someone she hated getting a backstage pass to her thoughts. Her real fear was much more prosaic: she was terrified of losing. Publicly. To Celia.

Even if Celia did manage to hypnotize her—and there wasn’t a chance in hell that that was ever going to happen—but hypothetically, if she did, it would just be the two of them alone in a room. She could deal. The idea of that dike poking around in her brain was disgusting, and the thought of being tricked into dancing around like an idiot, or believe she was the queen of England or whatever, that would be humiliating, but in the end, not earth shattering. But being made a fool of in front of a crowd of people?

Sheer, blank terror.

Amy was such a social animal that to her, it would be a fate worse than death. Actual death didn’t really bother her.

She had to win. Not just win: crush. And she would. It was going to be beautiful.

A door closed.

Celia.

“Amy. I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Because it’s such a fucking waste of my time? That occurred to me, yeah.”

“The door’s right there.”

“You wish. This is time I could have spent doing something productive, like giving myself paper cuts. You’re not getting off that easy.”

“All right. Allie, would you mind clearing out for a bit?”

“Aww, but I like the vicious banter,” she pouted.

“Out.”

Allison hopped up and kissed her. The cheerleader made a disgusted noise.

“There was no part of the agreement that said I had to watch softcore lesbian porn.”

Allison held the kiss for an extra second, just to spite her, then stuck her tongue out.

“Your loss! People pay good money to see that, you know. I’m talking genuine American dollars.”

“Go.“ Celia smiled. She turned to the bookshelf and began setting up. Allison flitted out the door, then stuck her head back in, sideways. She blinked three times at Amy, exaggeratedly, like a mime would, then ducked out before Celia turned back.

I get it, you fucking twit. Don’t blink.

“Have a seat.”

Celia set up the digital camcorder on the bookshelf, aiming it so that both her chair and the couch would be in frame.

“We clear on the rules? If I give you an instruction, you have to follow it, as long as it pertains to what we’re doing here. So if I tell you to look at a point on the wall, you have to look at a point on the wall, and if I tell you to jump out the window, even though that would make everyone’s lives a lot more pleasant, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“So have a seat.”

Amy sat on the couch, crossing her legs and her arms. It was a posture of power.

“Are we on the clock yet?”

“Clock starts when I turn on the camcorder.”

“And you’re waiting for...?”

Celia pressed the record button. Then, taking a black magic marker from the shelf, she crossed the room to the wall directly across from Amy. She drew a dot about three-quarters of the way up. Then she sat in a chair opposite the couch, moving it to the right slightly, where she wouldn’t block the view of the dot or be directly in her line of vision, but where she could also see Amy’s face.

Then she opened a book and started to read. It was Cat’s Cradle.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Ok then, look at the dot. Don’t look away until I say.” She turned the page.

Amy sighed loudly and looked at the dot. It was just high enough to be uncomfortable to look up at. She wondered if Celia had done that just to piss her off.

A minute passed. When Celia turned the page again, she burst.

“This is ridiculous. If it’s not a part of an induction, I don’t have to do it. You’re not doing any induction, you’re just sitting there.”

“Having someone sit quietly and look at something is probably the most common pre-induction there is, Princess. Did you skip that chapter? Eyes on the dot.”

“Fine. How long do I have to do this for?”

“Until I say stop.”

“You must be having a ball.” Amy shook her head, but kept her eyes on the dot.

“And speaking of ‘sitting quietly’, no more talking. And yes, asking someone to not talk during the induction is common too.”

“Fine. But if you insult me, I’m not going to just take it. That isn’t part of any hypnosis I know of.”

“Fair enough.” Celia probably could have argued that it could be part of an induction—anything could be, really. In the military, insults are one of the most basic forms of conditioning. But she didn’t want to push it, and she didn’t want Amy to walk out. The professor might agree later on that she was right, but, that wouldn’t stop it from ending the experiment.

And Celia did not want that to happen, period.

“Anything that resembles you just messing with me to get your jollies, and that’s it. I walk.”

“Ok. But the rules are pretty loose, you know. Like, if I asked you to do something like tap your fingers on your knee once every second for as long as you could. That might not be something that’s in a textbook, but it’s perfectly valid.”

Amy was acutely aware of the camera. In her mind, with her gut instinct for social dynamics, she imagined who the class would agree with about that. Probably Celia. She grudgingly conceded the point. It was about winning, completely and without question, in front of them. Winning over the crowd.

“Fine. But anything that’s blatantly ridiculous just for the fun of it, the game’s over.” The class would agree with that, too.

“Of course. Anything like that would end up making me look bad anyway,” Celia said, also aware of the camera. “Outside we might insult each other, but as far as I’m concerned, for the next two hours, this room is the classroom. If they watch the tape, I want them to agree that I was completely professional. That’s as important to me as the experiment itself.”

It was true, but she said it out loud for Amy’s benefit. If their motivations were the same, it would put her more at ease.

More importantly, much more importantly, Amy might stop questioning every little thing.

“Now, just keep looking at the dot. This isn’t some torture test, so if you get tired, feel free to lean back against the couch or get in a more comfortable position. Just keep your eyes on the dot if you do.”

Hah, fat chance. Lie back, get all relaxed. I know the drill. She set her jaw. Subconsciously, her back tightened.

“Obviously, it’s not normal for your eyes to fix on one point for so long, so if you feel you need to close them, go ahead and close them.”

Don’t blink.

Amy’s eyes went a hair wider.

“It’s, um, ok to blink, too.”

Hah. It makes its appearance. The jig is up, sister. Your girlfriend sold you out.

She stared triumphantly until she realized she’d overdone it: her eyes had dried out and begun to water all on their own, because of her Herculean effort to not close them. She blinked, which stung because they’d been open so long.

Outsmarted yourself. Ok. Just be natural until she starts talking about the desert or whatever. Your eyes are wet. Your eyes are wet. They don’t sting.

She wondered if the camera had caught that. A tiny knot formed in her stomach. Once again, it wasn’t fear of Celia or anything she was doing; it was the fear of looking stupid on tape.

Well anyone is going to have some twitches if they sit like this for that long. And what are the chances of anyone ever seeing the full tape? It would be two hours long by the end, after all. The class wasn’t going to watch it, unless there was something interesting to watch. And there wasn’t going to be.

The knot smoothed.

“Remember that it’s not a torture test, Amy. I really am trying to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Not a torture test my ass. Stuck in a room with the class queer for two hours. She’s probably getting off on this.

“I can’t force you to listen the entire time,

That’s right bitch, you can’t.

“and that’s half the point of the test. But obviously, I’d like it if you would. And since it’s part of the standard induction spiel, I’ll go ahead and say it: Please listen closely to each and every word.”

As if . She listened with one ear for more instructions while debating which member of the football team she was going to fuck next. She’d already had the quarterback. He was all right, his penis had a weird kink in it at the end though, and one of his balls didn’t hang quite right. Forget the linebackers. Weighing five hundred pounds might guarantee them a shot at the big leagues, but seriously, how did they live with themselves? Maybe one of the running backs, like—

Wait.

What if zoning out was what Celia wanted?

Of course. Of course that’s what she wanted: for her to space out, so that instructions could slip in the back door. Oh bravo, she thought. Points for the dike. Reverse psychology 101.

She’d have to listen consciously so that she could break the words down, make them just words. All she had to do was keep it up for what—the next hour and forty minutes? Hour and thirty? She noted, searching her peripheral vision without moving her eyes, that there were no clocks in the room.

Annoying. Both the lack of clock, and the having to pay attention. Whatever. She listened. It was the standard rigmarole. Celia mentioned the camera again, trying to act like the big girl, show how professional she was, put her at ease with assurances that she wasn’t going to make her do anything stupid.

Stop talking about the camera, dumbass. No one’s more aware of it than me. You’re not putting me at ease, you’re making me nervous.

Celia hadn’t even tried anything inductiony yet. No “you’re getting sleepy, your eyes are starting to close”, etc. etc. blah blah blah. Probably building up to it. For the moment, she seemed content to have a one-sided conversation with herself. She was saying

“And you don’t have to do that. Thanks for trying to be cooperative, but all I want you to do right now is look at the dot.”

This whole thing was... wait, what? Do what? Her mouth actually opened to ask, but she remembered the ‘no talking’ rule at the last second and snapped it shut.

Do what? Had she done something? Maybe subconsciously, because she was thinking too hard? A tic, a twitch? She looked down at herself, checking her outfit; it was such an ingrained response for her in a moment of doubt that she didn’t even think about it.

“Eyes on the dot, please.”

Oh, damn. Whatever. The class wouldn’t blame her for looking; it was a slip, not trying to avoid Celia’s instructions.

Celia was just trying to psych her out. She hadn’t done anything.

But no, that wouldn’t make much sense; Celia would be trying to relax her, not get her wired up and self-conscious. Textbook hypnosis. You want a person relaxed, forgetting themselves.

She weighed it from a few angles. Every way she tried it, it came out the same: she’d done something to make Celia say that. She’d played along in some way, not even aware of it. What did you do?

She’d done something, it was recorded on tape, and she didn’t know what it was. A cold stone landed in her stomach. Amy owned social situations. She did that by being aware of herself and everyone around her at every moment. It was a gift; she felt like she was in the Matrix sometimes, reading the code of everyone around her, knowing just what to say. There was a glitch in the Matrix. She was not owning this situation.

It didn’t matter. It was probably just a tic or something. But... that didn’t make sense either. Why would Celia have commented on something as small as that? No, it had been something she thought needed mentioning; it had interrupted her. Celia didn’t waste words.

Screw the rules, she was going to ask.

No, now she couldn’t: too much time had passed. That was like 5 minutes ago already. Get a grip. It would look bizarre if she asked about it now. It would look like she’d been obsessing about it for the past five minutes.

The cold in her stomach spread. She could feel her heart beating.

Keep it together. Celia is smart. If she does try anything, it’s going to be in a way that looks totally normal to the camera. Therefore, you have to react in a way that looks totally normal.

And no matter what, as long as her heart was thrumming like she’d just had three triple espressos, there was no chance of a trance happening. That was somewhat comforting, but the beating in her chest didn’t stop.

Celia just kept up with the one sided conversation. Listening for instructions was like having to watch twenty minutes of news when all you wanted was the weather. Come on, make with the hypno babble already. I can’t smack you down if you never start. Celia still hadn’t given her any more orders, which was sort of a relief because that’s the thing she’d been nervous about in the first place. The only one had been the look at the dot thing, which Amy was still

“Good, like that. Very good.”

What??

There had been no instruction. She’d been paying attention. She hadn’t done anything because there had been no instruction. Celia had been talking about how she knew she couldn’t force her to do anything (for like the seventh time), and then that line had popped out of nowhere.

She’s talking about something else. You didn’t do anything. But the icy pit in her belly wondered if the camera had seen something that she couldn’t remember.

Maybe the instruction had been to not remember.

No. Don’t even think that. This is part of her thing. Freaking you out. Getting into your head.

But again, dear, why would she try to rile you up when it works totally against her goals?

You did do something. She told you to do something and you did it, and then she told you you were doing good to reward you.

Adrenaline squirted into her veins.

No. She went over the moments leading up to it in her mind. Celia had babbled, then said the thing that made no sense. But what exactly did she say, right before? What were the exact words? She was thinking too hard about it, mushing the stupid sentences up in her brain. Who can remember the exact wording of every sentence of an endless fucking lecture like this?

No one could, but she needed to know, and her need to know was keeping her from knowing. Vicious cycle. You need to calm down. And you need to keep listening because she’s been talking the entire time you’ve been thinking about this.

Her heart hammered. She could feel it in her throat and in her ears.

The camera saw you do something and you don’t know what it was.

“Perfect.”

Wait! No! She hadn’t been listening for that one, she’d been wrapped up in the last one! Stop, go back!

Panic welled up, real panic. But the camera still couldn’t see it, so it was ok. It was all in her head. But it saw whatever you did that made Celia say that.

Maybe you imagined that she said it in the first place. You’re psyching yourself out. Let it go, let it slide off. But wait, what if Celia wants you to let it go?

She did something. She made you do something. She’s the best in the class, the best on campus, and you knew Allison wasn’t faking it, you just said that to piss her off, and why did I agree to this and

Her eyes were watering. Everything was speeding up.

She was starting to have a panic attack.

As if thinking it had made it real, it snowballed: her breath caught in her throat, like she had just run a race. But she’d worn a loose shirt—the camera couldn’t see her chest rising and falling, faster and faster—It couldn’t see. Could it?

Yes, it could, of course it could.

The adrenaline let loose completely. She felt it, cold, like a car accident, like someone jumping out of the bushes at you at night. She was having a panic attack. She had to get out.

No. Then you lose. Everyone knows you had to run. Everyone will SEE you run.

Oh God.

Spots formed in front of her eyes from the rapid breathing. You’re hyperventilating. You’re going to faint. Oh God, don’t let that happen. Then it will really look like Celia won. You’ll pass out, and it will look like someone falling into a trance. Successful hypnosis of an unwilling subject. But that wasn’t possible. But Celia was going to make it look like it was possible. It didn’t matter what really happened. That never mattered. All that mattered was what the audience saw. Running out would be better. Then at least she could say that she’d had to go to the bathroom or something. Anything. Anything in the world—fire, torture, death—anything would be better than if her eyes rolled up and she toppled over like a limp doll—

“Good. Exactly like that. You’re good at this, Amy.”

I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING STOP SAYING THAT

The spots grew, too much oxygen in the brain, she couldn’t see the dot on the wall anymore, and now she knew she couldn’t run, if she stood up she would faint, too much oxygen to the brain, it would be like when you stood up and got a little dizzy, except ten times worse, the lights would just go out, and when she woke up—

-she was trapped, trapped in front of the camera that had been so good to her her whole life, the one she’d manipulated so easily, the one that had loved her. Her face was hot, burning, and she knew that it must be bright red-

There was no way it couldn’t see: she was rasping, sweating and still blinking even though Celia hadn’t gotten to that fucking part yet—why had she listened to the redhead—the knowledge hit her coldly, she knew it was fact: the jig was up, it would be obvious that she’d had a panic attack, the professor, the class, everyone could see—

—and if she fainted they might even call an ambulance, that’s what you do when someone faints, right? And she would wake up strapped onto a gurney in the back of the ambulance, sirens blaring, rushing to the hospital, and she’d say “I’m fine, I just fainted!” and they’d explain that they had to take her anyway, to make sure everything was ok, and she’d insist she was fine, and they’d say “just relax, Ma’am”, and she’d fight against the restraints and tell them to shut the fuck up and let her go, and the paramedics would share a knowing look, and one of them would reach for a syringe—

And then she felt it happening, like something coming loose in the back of her neck. The spots grew, encompassed her entire vision until all she could see was gray. She was fainting. She accepted it in that careless way that people accept death in the moment before it happens. Her motor functions let go and her upper brain watched idly.

Time stopped.

—in the void, with that knowledge, the certainty of what was happening and her inability to stop it, a coldness settled on her: a clarity, like a near death experience. She saw everything clearly, for just a moment, and accepted it. She was going to live. She knew what she had to do.

She closed her eyes and went to that place, that place of confidence that had guided her throughout her entire life. That place that snappy comebacks came from, and the knowledge that she was beautiful. That place that had led her to be the top of nearly every class, to be one of the elite cheerleaders of a major university football team. That place where she could handle anything.

That place where she was safe from Celia.

So what if her face was red? If anyone mentioned it, she’d say the room was hot because Celia was so hot for her. Hah. She smiled. So what if it looked like she’d hyperventilated for a minute there—she’d say she was barely restraining her rage at having her time wasted like this. Hah, and that one was even true. Good. Ok. Good. If anyone mentioned her blinking, she’d say “well YOU try staring at a wall for two fucking hours and see how red your eyes are at the end of it”, and then she’d insult their penis or breast size.

Easy like Sunday morning, baby.

Amy smiled. She’d won.

Celia’s jaw set. The clock ticked away the last seconds.

“Time’s up. You can get up.”

Amy’s eyes dropped from the spot, but instead of rubbing them, or blinking, or stretching away the cramps of two hours sitting still, she swung her gaze right at Celia.

“I’m trying to think of something really biting to say, but I think it’d be more poignant if I just gloat quietly for a minute.”

“You can go,” Celia’s voice dropped a notch.

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I should have left the camera on,” Celia rolled her eyes as she took it over to the computer and plugged it in, “it was the only thing shutting you up.”

Amy stood up and stretched. It was heaven.

“Just hurry up and burn my copy. I don’t want you destroying the evidence.”

“Oh I won’t. I think I could argue that you were in a light trance at one point.”

Amy guffawed.

“Come. On. Give it up, Pocahontas. At what point?”

“Well, I think you were beginning to respond to suggestions.”

“I was responding to instructions because those were the rules. Did I ever do any of the things that you can get hypnotized people to do?”

“Well, not the traditional things, but...”

“Did I hold my arms out and walk around like a zombie?”

“No.”

“Then what, what did I do that you think proves you won in even the loosest sense of the word?”

“Well, you did keep your eyes on the spot for the full two hours, and that sort of concentration could be indicative of—”

“WEAK. It’s indicative of my owning you so hard, and class next week is going to be so fun.”

Celia looked away.

“I wish I could have got that look on tape,” Amy gloated. She’d won. She had Celia by the throat and she wasn’t going to stop twisting until... well, alas, they had to graduate and part ways at some point, but until then, yeah.

The disk drive stopped spinning. Celia popped out the CD and handed it to her.

“Remember, the agreement was four hours.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Why don’t you just give it up? You’re going to make me do the full four hours just to spite me, because that’s all you got, a bucket of bupkis and squat.”

“Whatever. Just go. I’ll see you again tomorrow night, if that’s good for you.”

“Whenever, wherever, baby.” Amy skipped out the door. She passed Allison in the hallway.

“El cheerleader del Diablo!” Allison shrieked in an exaggerated noir movie voice.

Amy only smirked as she passed. Allison felt her own smile fade. Well, that was not a great sign. She passed through the ajar door. Celia was standing by the computer, her head down.

“So? Did it work?”

“Is she gone?”

“Yup. Skipped out, literally.”

Celia turned around. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“And she has no idea?”

“Not a clue.”

They were sitting on the couch, Allison in Celia’s lap, her arm draped around Celia’s neck, playing with her hair.

“Did my thing with telling her not to blink work?”

Celia laughed, hard.

“Oh yeah it worked. You should have seen her, like this,” Celia bulged her eyes out. “I thought she was going to faint from the effort in the first five minutes. She sat straight as a board the whole time, like her leg was in a bear trap and she was hoping no one would notice. What did you say to her?”

“Well, I was all spooky and ominous... I made with the psych out here and there... but mostly, I just told her the truth. She should have just left. I didn’t think she could handle it.”

And when I told her that I didn’t like you being in other girls’ heads, that was the truth too.

“Well whatever it was, wow.”

“So, how did you do it? I thought it was supposed to be... you know. Impossible.”

Celia laid her head back, feeling the warm ivory arm against the back of her neck, smiling at the ceiling.

“It is. I didn’t hypnotize her. She hypnotized herself.”

“What a gyp!” Allison shoved her, which didn’t work so well because she was sitting on her. “All hypnosis is self hypnosis, blah blah! I know that part, wanker!”

“Not like this. I...” Celia looked up at her. “Well, it wasn’t exactly nice. I don’t really want to tell you.”

“Sweety, if there was any part of your relationship that was nice, I’d like to hear it. And besides,” she kissed the tan ear, “you were defending my honor.”

“Ok. Well, the short version is that I gave her stage fright so bad she went into a stress-induced trance.

“The camera was the audience: she was on stage, but she was powerless to act. She’d signed up for it, in front of everyone. She had to play along, and playing along meant listening to me and watching the spot for two hours.

“Stage fright is a powerful thing. I mean, most people are more afraid of being embarrassed in front of a crowd than they are of death.”

Allison felt a familiar stir as she imagined it: Amy frozen, those cold, baby blue eyes unable to look away, by her own agreement. The look on her face as she realized what she had agreed to.

“When I saw it was working, I started throwing things in... making her think she’d lost time and was already following suggestions. Saying things that didn’t make sense. And always bringing it back to the camera, that she was being watched, by everyone.”

Her leg really was in a bear trap. The arm around Celia’s neck became hot.

“She couldn’t move, or she’d break the agreement. Couldn’t look away, couldn’t speak.”

She never had a chance.

“Building the paranoia for an hour, with her just sitting there like a cat caught in a mousetrap... it was too much. She had a panic attack, hyperventilated, and fainted. Well, almost fainted—I had to stop her from completely conking out. I mean, it would have been funny, and a win, kinda. But I couldn’t work with her if she was unconscious.”

My baby. My dangerous, dangerous baby. It’s almost scary, sometimes.

“That would be too good for her. She went after my nitroglycerin girl.”

Stop it. You know what a sucker I am for chivalry. She shifted her weight, feeling Celia beneath her, on the backs of her legs. That’s her, the most dangerous woman you’ve ever known, that’s the lap you’re sitting in. Those are her legs.

“I wanted to unravel her.”

Allison felt the word in her chest. She could leave a man gasping, screaming love words at a cement sky, but she chose you. And she could leave you gasping too, by doing almost nothing.

“Her mind had two choices: black out, or go to a place where it wasn’t so freaked out. A self-induced trance. It’s pretty common in times of high stress...”

Allison leaned in, feeling Celia’s arm against her breast. More of her had to be touching more of this deadly woman.

“At the last moment, when I saw her shutting down, I brought her out of it just enough for her mind to do the rest.”

Unraveled. You unraveled her. She could see it, see the girl’s eyes begin to roll up, see Celia bring her back at the moment she lost control. See the panicked face smooth, the heaving chest sigh and become still. See Amy’s mind go to it’s safe place, the last refuge of a mind under assault.

But it wasn’t safe there anymore. Celia was there.

“It couldn’t be a trance led by me—she was actively fighting that. It had to happen on its own. But once it did—”

She felt Celia’s hand move up her legs, under her dress. Idly, playing. Careful, oh be careful, I want to hear the rest of the story but if your hand goes any higher—

“Then she was mine.”

Then it didn’t matter where the hand was. Celia felt the cream-colored body shiver, goosebumps break out on ivory thighs.

Allison saw Amy’s shoulders sag, saw the meticulously cared-for body collapse against the couch. She saw the face, normally so venomous, turn placid. Only Celia could make that face beautiful. She saw—

stars, because Celia’s thumb was pressing against her, through the cotton panties. Cotton, she always wore cotton nowadays, because—

stars.

Then Celia was pulling at the thin underwear, trying to get it off. Allison surprised the both of them by reaching down and ripping it clean off of her body in one motion.

You can make me strong. She felt the dark legs moving beneath hers. That deadly body. Her dress had come down, exposing a shoulder, a breast. Those deadly lips were on her breast. Are we sick? We get off on hypnotizing giohmygod those fingers, she’s teasing me, stop it, stop it, just slide-

-but she had to not let herself go, she had to say, before it was too late,

“Celia.” A beat. “Do it. What you did to her. To me.”

“No,” Celia breathed against her skin, kissing the blush. “That was... cruel... just for Amy.”

Allison seized her, made her look up. They breathed, feeling each other.

“Then. Do. Anything.” She dove against the cinnamon neck, biting, kissing.

Celia took her by the chin and forced her head away. They breathed, feeling each other. She turned Allison’s head with her hand: slowly, irresistibly, until the green eyes faced the wall.

“Eyes on the spot.”

Oh—

Later. They were still on the couch. Allison slept, her head on Celia’s shoulder, her right leg over Celia’s left. Celia dozed, drifting in and out.

There were parts of that tape that could never be shown to a class. She’d already made a heavily edited version, saving the real one for the professor. Things had been said, by Amy, while she was in her ‘safe’ place, that were not fit for a room full of people. Things Celia wouldn’t air in public, even to cast down her worst enemy.

It was obvious that Amy humiliated people out of a fear of being humiliated herself. That was textbook, freshman psychology. But she should have realized that something made Amy especially vicious.

It was the same reason that some people were so violently homophobic. They lashed out at what they were.

Amy liked to be humiliated.

She’d fought against it so hard that her personality had been defined by it. She didn’t even know it. Except on some level, she did. But consciously, she only knew that her reaction to the idea of being degraded was so raw, her entire being recoiled at it.

Celia hadn’t told Allison. She’d deleted that small section from even the professor’s version of the tape. She hated Amy, yes, but something about showing that to anyone would be not ok. It was a line that was not to be crossed. It would be closer to rape than actual rape. It would destroy her.

She wondered what she would do about the class. She couldn’t just throw the whole thing out because she suddenly had some sympathy for the girl. But on the other hand, could she really use that—to manipulate someone?

She looked at Allison’s sleeping face. God, she was like an angel. Celia’s eyes drifted down her neck, over the naked shoulder, down the delicate arm... to the ugly purple bruise, in the shape of a hand, on the thin wrist.

Yes. Yes, she could.