The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The man was attractive. Crystal had been sneaking furtive glances at him multiple times in the course of the past half-hour. But so far as Crystal had seen, the man had never looked back at her— she doubted he’d even noticed she was there.

If she had still been in her twenties, she would have gone over there— wouldn’t have cared about anything besides taking what she wanted. She’d been a bit feral in those days; working odd jobs, spending most of her nights at punk clubs in full punk get up, fully a part of that punk scene. She still had her tattoos from those days.

Punk had been the natural expression of her tomboy days as a child; but she’d never showed up on the scene dressing as feminine as she sometimes had, alone as a teenager, finding how much she enjoyed it. That pull in her was a constant, between being more feminine and taking enjoyment in it, and being more wild and feral.

At least these days she thought she channeled her wildness a little better; her primary hobby was going to the roller derby— and while she was there, she did herself up in full dramatic eyeshadow and lipstick as she used to in the old days; and she found she could get her aggression out, taking and giving hits.

But she couldn’t always indulge that side of herself— she kept it a bit tamed, on a leash. The rest of the time she was more in her feminine aspect, which meant being in her more socially acceptable aspect— although even then, she still had the tattoos, though she covered them— and she still had the nose piercing through the side of her right nostril, though she didn’t always jewel it.

And she did keep her hair in a slightly more jagged pixie style; though these days she dyed it platinum blonde, instead of dying it green or blue or purple or other neon tints as in earlier days.

She knew her basic features were in line with the proprietous side of her— blue eyes like those of an innocent, an endearingly overlarge nose, and straight, ideal teeth. They helped her look the part of the proper, well behaved woman— when she left the piercing out of her nose, used more delicate makeup, and dressed in business attire. But even when she looked like that, she still knew her tattoos were hidden under all her layers— and it gave her a little thrill to know that somewhere inside herself, she was still feral, no matter how professionally she dressed. It was a hidden secret that gave her a lot of enjoyment. It gave her a lot of pleasure.

Crystal would have gone over to that man once. But she wasn’t in her twenties anymore, taking what she wanted with abandon, working odd jobs and just barely pulling survival off, thrilling on the thrill of that every day. She was thirty-five now, and she worked for a successful business firm. She wouldn’t go over.

Her job was the reason she was even sitting here, where she was right now— she wasn’t in her own building right now. She was in the concourse area of a different high-rise building, because her own firm was trying to lock in a contract with a new company. And this was only a preliminary meeting, which was why she hadn’t been invited up to the company’s own facilities— this was meant to be informal, to save the company from even extending so much effort as booking one of their own meeting rooms for this interaction.

She thought it had been going decently so far— though she’d been throwing furtive looks at that man, she didn’t think her firm’s prospective client had noticed her thrown glances.

And now, the man in the suit she’d been talking to was smoothing his tie, getting ready to push his chair back and stand. She didn’t throw another glance. Probably that other man had already left— she’d only liked checking he was still there because it had allowed her the fantasy of him coming over and talking to her— because he was so attractive she did privately wish that somehow their two life paths could cross, possibly intertwine for a time.

She put the other man out of mine, and pushed her own chair back, stood, and took the prospective client’s hand when he proffered. She gave it a firm shake, he nodded at her, and he turned to head toward the high-rise elevators. That left her to gather her purse and other belongings.

It had been a good meeting, she thought— she had the client’s card— a few more informal meetings like this, in which the client warmed up to her, and then he’d probably be willing to advocate for Crystal’s firm to his bosses— then a contract would officially be in the works.

She had her purse clasped closed again, and she swung it over into her other hand.

When she looked up, planning to start walking, the man was there, standing across the table from her.

“Are you going?” He asked.

He was soft-spoken. It made Crystal’s heart go a little uneven— that was the appeal of his looks— there was a stillness in them, an absolute calm— maybe he didn’t have the sharp, cut lines in his features or figure that other women appreciated in men— he was of average height, but he was filled out and solid— not exceedingly muscular or sculpted— but present, fully occupying the space around him— his shoulders were broad and square— and there was that softness about him, softness in his features, softness in his lines, all of which suggested a kind of gentleness that soft-spokenness seemed perfectly aligned with.

His average height— his plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, they all added to the appeal for Crystal— a man so soft, so gentle, seemed to have a kind of mystery about him that had Crystal curious. A kind of mystery that had Crystal powerfully, powerfully attracted. Drawn in his direction.

“Yes, I’m leaving now,” Crystal said, secretly pleased that, as fervently hoped for, the man had approached her after all— their two paths had crossed enough for them both to be speaking now.

The man nodded, as though he had been expecting this. “Is anything expecting you?”

Crystal shifted her purse a little higher up her shoulder. “Nothing that can’t be made to wait for me. Especially since when I show up late, I’ll be showing up late with good news.”

The man smiled a winning smile— it was soft, like all the other lines of his form— just as alluring as the rest of him, in its softness. Soft like the volume of his voice.

“Then would you enjoy leaving the building and crossing the street to get a cup of coffee with me?”

Crystal smiled, flashing her perfectly straight teeth. “I’d enjoy that a lot.”

The man gestured ahead of him, indicating that she should step forward first. Gentlemanly too, Crystal thought. That appealed to the side of her that was more presentable, more socialized— the side of her more feminine.

It was the mystery of his softness that intrigued her feral side.

They made it out of the concourse, then out of the high-rise— across the crosswalk, and into the little coffeeshop, sandwiched between two other shops on either side of itself as it was.

The man told Crystal to get a table, then returned with two cups of coffee about two minutes later.

He sat himself down across from her, placing a cup in front of her and keeping one for himself.

He studied her face with gentle patience.

“I’m Paul,” he said.

Sometimes Crystal failed to realize when her wild side took over— had it been a little wild of her to come over for coffee with a man before she even knew his name?

“Crystal,” she told him.

“Do you take anything in your coffee?” Paul asked.

Crystal nodded. “Usually I take three spoons of sugar.”

She wondered if he was going to put sugar in her coffee for her too.

He didn’t make any indication in this direction— and this was not a chain coffeeshop— it was a place independent, with all the quaintness one might associate with such a place— the coffee was served in ceramic cups, each table had a ceramic sugarbowl, and each table setting had a metal spoon.

Paul pushed the ceramic sugarbowl towards Crystal.

“Why don’t you remove the lid from the sugarbowl, and spoon three spoonfuls into your coffee one after the other? Then stir it for a while, until all the sugar crystals have dissolved.”

Crystal’s brow furrowed. What was Paul doing, now? Why did he think he needed to suggest something to her she’d already been intending to do?

It put her in a bit of an invisible bind. If that wildness in her defiantly refused to spoon sugar into her coffee— out of a hatred for being told what to do— then she wouldn’t get to have sugar, as she preferred. She’d have to frown her way through drinking the coffee bitter.

But if she did spoon the sugar into her coffee— there was no way, now, to make it seem like her idea. It would look like she was just doing as he’d said— following his suggestion.

The wild thing in her screeched a little. Resenting forced obedience— she stiffened a little, overcoming that internal reaction— Paul’s eyes followed her body as she did this— she didn’t understand why.

Primly, she picked up her spoon, and removed the lid from the sugarbowl. She carefully filled one spoonful, put it in her coffee— filled a second, put it in her coffee, filled a third— put it in her coffee. She had done it one after the ofter— as Paul had said— and now she was watching her coffee, could see the sugar crystals in it— watching the spoon go around and around the cup— stirring the liquid to make it shake up the crystals, to dissolve them more and more— her hand was still guiding the spoon around.

She hadn’t looked at Paul the entire time.

“Crystal,” Paul said, in that soft-spoken way. “You’re doing as I suggested you to do— now you’re stirring the spoon around and around your coffee. You feel the way the handle rests in your hand, the way your fingers squeeze around it— and you can feel the spoon moving through the coffee. The repeating motion. Moving your arm to move your hand. The action taken. You’re doing it all as I said, doing it because I said.”

“I can’t argue that that’s what it looks like,” Crystal said, but her eyes were still on the coffee. “But I—”

“How do you feel when you focus on the motion of your arm, on the motion of your hand? On the motion of the liquid in response to the spoon?”

It was giving her a strange clarity of focus— something that shone so bright it cut— it glared.

“I feel intense awareness,” Crystal admitted. Confession was the only path through the interaction. She couldn’t seem to stop stirring her coffee. Or looking at it— or feeling it— the muscles in her arm, and hand, moving— the spoon stirring— the coffee sloshing— so painfully bright, every part of the experience. It made her want to shield her brain from the brightness— though there was no actual visual component of blinding light present.

“That’s good, Crystal,” Paul said, encouragingly. “I think we should see each other again.”

He put his hand on her hand, and stilled it.

It let her eyes come up to meet his.

She was aware of herself now— not the coffee— she hadn’t liked that experience.

She wasn’t sure if she much liked Paul.

“I don’t think—”

“Which building do you work in?”

She was still a little shaken up— it came out automatically.

“That’s good too, Crystal. I’ll see you later.”

He stood and left her there.

Crystal had some time to think about that encounter in the next few weeks. The more she thought about it, the more she blamed Paul for that strange fixity of focus— it had disturbed her, to feel she was unable to look away, or stop moving in the pattern set for her— every movement making the fixity more fixèd. Paul had had to be the one to stop her— she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

She’d told him her real building— the high-rise her firm was located in, but as the days continued and no appearance of Paul manifested, she began to relax again. She wouldn’t be seeing him again. Which was good. Because she didn’t like him.

About a month after that day in the coffeeshop, he had disappeared from everywhere but the back of her mind— the chase for that contract had gone well, and, if she could have just one more successful meeting with that client, she’d have a signed contract in hand, authorized, and ready to go.

So that was what she was mostly thinking about when she stepped out of the building to go home at the end of the day.

And of course, that was the day that Paul was loitering on the sidewalk outside her building’s entrance, leaning up against the exterior building wall.

He didn’t call to her— she saw him first, then he saw her seeing him, and when she turned to walk away from him, she heard footsteps behind her scrambling to catch up with her. She knew they were Paul’s, and when she felt a presence keeping pace aside her, she knew that was him too.

“You’re walking,” Paul said. “You feel your shoes hitting the pavement, feel your legs shuffling ahead of each other, feel your arms swinging opposite with each step. Step, step— the motion of your legs, the motion of your arms, the motion of your feet, the clicking of your heels.”

No, something in Crystal cried. It seemed to have happened faster that time. That blinding sensation was back in her mind— that desire to shield from things that weren’t even literally there— she was painfully aware again. All of reality cut, and now she couldn’t stop walking— and the more she noticed how it felt to put one leg ahead of the other, the more she noticed how it felt to connect a heel to sidewalk pavement— the sharper everything became, the more blinding.

She was actually starting to panic inside— the feral thing was rabid with desperation, clawing for freedom, becoming enraged. But she couldn’t stop walking.

The worst part was the soothing way Paul talked— anyone else around them problem couldn’t even make out what he was saying because he was so quiet about it.

“I can see by the way your body has locked into the pattern of walking that you’re listening to me. That you’re in that focused place. You walked like I told you to walk, like you spooned and stirred when I told you to the first time we met. So you’ll listen and do what I tell you next. Stop walking, and stand beside me while I hail a taxi.”

Her body stopped. Paul had turned to face the street, had stepped up to the curb. She was now beside him, and he put a proprietary hand on her shoulder.

“Good, Crystal. You feel the way you’re standing there. Your legs going straight down, your heels still and supporting you— all your muscles relaxed, waiting, doing nothing apart from holding you up. Just feel your stance.”

She didn’t have a choice. But the animal in her hated it. Howled and pulled at the bars of its cage. She would have been a true danger to him, her hatred of him was that fierce— a true danger to him, if he wasn’t so able to make her body lock into a pattern of his choice.

It was the work of a few moments for Paul to get them a taxi. The hand on her shoulder slid down to cup her elbow.

He was speaking near her ear. She wished she could claw his face. “When you get into the cab, just feel how it is to sit there on the seat.”

His hand followed her elbow as she got in first. Then he followed her, and she scooted over.

The entire taxi ride, she was trying to will herself to speak. To scream and beg the cabdriver for help.

But every time she tried to raise her voice, she felt the seat under her backside, against the backs of her legs. And then everything blinded her again— fixed her into the status quo.

The taxi took them out of the downtown area— into a more residential one. At last it pulled up in front of a bungalow with wooden siding— the siding was painted a coffee brown color.

Paul was speaking close to her ear again. “Feel the motion of walking up to the front door. Then feel the stillness of standing there.”

This put her body through the motions of opening her cab door— and every step blinded. Every step gave reality everjaggening edges— everything so sharp, nowhere to look, nothing to feel that could shield her. One leg passed the other. One heel touched walkway, then the other— then when the door was at last before her, and she was still. Unspeaking. Feeling her legs stand there— feeling her muscles supporting her— feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Presumably Paul was paying the cabdriver. Had the cabdriver thought the leaned-in murmur was something shared between lovers? If only the driver knew how much Crystal hated the man she was with.

At last there was the sound of a cab door closing— of the cab driving away. Crystal couldn’t turn around to see for herself. It wasn’t an experience she’d been told to have. She was staring at the door in front of her. It was all she could do.

There were steps up the walkway— scuffing soles, and then Paul was a presence at her side again. He took his keys out of his jacket pocket— a casual jacket which was soft, light and brown— and he unlocked the door, and pushed it open for her, then keeping his hand pressed against it to keep it open that way.

“Feel the sensation of stepping forward— then stepping left, and walking into the den. And then have the feeling of sinking down to sit in the armchair that has its back to the window, and faces the rest of the room.”

She cursed him inside. But she stepped forward, then stepped left, walked into the den, and sat in the armchair.

She was aware of the cushion beneath where she sat— felt the armchair. She listened to the sound of more steps— of the front door closing— of the keys being set in a metal dish, on a table she hadn’t been able to notice because she’d had to walk past it.

Across from her armchair there was another one. Maybe there was usually a coffeetable between them. But right now there wasn’t.

Paul appeared in her line of sight when he sat himself in the armchair she could see, across from her.

He crossed his ankles. He was studying her face again.

“You can feel how it is to sit there— your body can’t move— it’s stuck in the pattern of feeling the chair supporting it, feeling the way it rests against the chair, and then the way the chair comes up to support it. But the circuit of speech is not engaged in this loop— you can speak again.”

He said it all so calmly.

What he said was true— her body was locked into a relaxed seated position on a chair she had to begrudgingly admit was comfortable— but the inability to speak she’d felt so horribly in the cab was gone. She found nothing blocking her anymore— speaking was easy again.

“Bastard,” she spat.

Paul was unfazed. “What would you do to me if I restored your control over your body to you?”

She was so angry she didn’t even consider filtering her answer.

“I’d pounce across the room, tackle you to the floor and shred you to pieces with my hands.”

Paul blinked at her. “I believe you. It’s a good thing, then, isn’t it, that I have a failsafe on you.”

“I hate you,” she spat. But her body never tensed. It stayed as relaxed as it had been all the time.

She had spoken out of her animal nature— no need for propriety here, not when this situation was so dangerous.

Not when Paul was so evil. She was very sympathetic to her animal side— in full agreement with it for once.

“What are you wearing underneath your suit skirt combo?” His voice was gentle. Clawing his face wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to claw out his eyes.

She didn’t want to tell him— but apparently she did. “I’m wearing a blouse. And under my blouse, a camisole.”

Paul was resting an arm on the armrest of his chair now, had his hand resting against the side of his face. “And under your skirt?”

“Just underwear,” Crystal gritted, hating she couldn’t stop herself from giving him what he wanted.

“Then strip down to your camisole and your underwear,” Paul said. “Experience the motions that make up those tasks. Undoing your blazer, removing it— lifting your blouse over your head— kicking off your heels— standing, shucking your skirt down— sitting back down again.”

She wanted it to stop burning. Wanted it to stop cutting. Wanted reality to dim again, dim back to normal. But in a minute she was sitting there, in her cream, silk camisole and matching silk underwear.

“Lift the front of your camisole for me,” Paul next said, still speaking gently. “Just until the hem of it is above your bellybutton.”

So he wasn’t trying to make her naked. Then why—?

“Look down,” Paul told her.

Oh. Her tattoo.

The tattoo she had along her lower stomach from years ago— a foreboding looking black moon, and a rather dangerous looking wolf prowling beneath it.

“I saw that. That day when I came over to talk to you. When you met up with that man, you walked past my table first— your purse started slipping quite far down your arm. You had to jerk your shoulder quite far up, and it made your shirt ride up— I saw a glimpse of your tattoo. Then I didn’t look at you again. But I noticed you looking at me, over and over.

“Like you had the impulse to come over to me— but you tamed it— the same kind of wildness that would relate to a tattoo like that was a wildness that also wanted me— wanted to take and have me. You didn’t let yourself. I wished that you would come over to me first— wished you would let that wildness out, let it do what it wanted. But when it was clear how leashed you kept it, I knew I would have to be the one to approach you.”

“But what have you done to me?” The question was a desperate surge, but Crystal’s body had not moved.

“I’ve got you in the preliminary stages of hypnosis,” Paul explained kindly. “And hypnosis doesn’t only have to be like this— something painful, unpleasant, immobilizing— but you see how I needed my failsafe. We’ll work on it more together, make it something more appealing for you.”

“What do you—”

“Feral creature,” Paul said, as if speaking over Crystal’s head. “I know you are the thing that wants to shred me. But you wanted to mate with me first. All that pent up passion you have from being kept restrained— I can show you how to revel in it in a more constructive way. You just have to trust me. Let me show you. Come back in a week.”

Dismissed, Crystal redressed and left.

The next week’s passage was a trepidatious one. Each day Crystal was sure that she couldn’t possibly go back to Paul’s house at the end of it— that her wild side wouldn’t want to get back there, that it couldn’t overcome her— and then after those moments of certainty inevitably followed the moments of doubt and fear.

None of this showed externally. Crystal performed well at her job as usual— kept up with her life, made it to the roller derby a few times; no one knew what she was wrestling with inside— pulling between certainty and doubt, confidence and fear.

And on that day in a week’s time, to Crystal’s immense disappointment and fear, she found herself on the way to Paul’s house— it didn’t feel as if the animal in her was keen on going either— so maybe this was just Paul’s failsafe, the way he could just seem to hijack her body— neither Crystal, nor her more feral side, were keen to go to Paul’s or see him, neither of them were happy to see that they were going.

But regardless of their feelings, Crystal’s body arrived at Paul’s doorstep, and Crystal knocked on Paul’s door.

It opened just a moment later. Paul took a surveyal of Crystal in one sweeping glance.

“You didn’t want to come,” he noted. “And neither did the creature in you. Your body just showed up automatically.”

“Yes,” Crystal gritted again. She hated him so much it was hard to talk to him.

“Come back into the living room. Sit where you did last week.”

They retook their previous places. Paul hadn’t even told her to notice the experience this time, but her mind seemed to be doing it already— everything was sharpening, everything glaring—

“What do you feel, Crystal, when you enter those preliminary stages of hypnosis I’ve introduced you to?”

Crystal whined. “It hurts. Everything around gets sharp. Everything gets blinding— and then it just keeps becoming more and more that way and the more I feel it cut, and the more I feel it blind, the more I notice it and it just keeps getting worse.”

“That’s interesting,” Paul said. “I never told your mind to have that experience. It settled on it by itself. It doesn’t have to be that way.”

Paul cleared his throat, fidgeted with one hand. Both his arms were along the armrests again. “I’m going to give you control over your body again. I’ll stop that feedback loop— show you a different side of hypnosis. You can resist if you want to— but I’m still going to want that failsafe in my back pocket. For my own protection. You’re habituated to snapping into listening to me— just doing what you hear me say. So if I say the word, ‘breaker,’ you’ll be feeling the experience— and you’ll freeze in place, your body back under my control.”

Nothing felt different to Crystal.

But Paul seemed to believe in what he’d done. “Crystal, you have free control of your body again.”

All of her limbs seemed to relax in that instant— not in the strange slack relaxation that happened when Paul forced her body into a state of passivity, but actual relaxation— everything loose, everything now something she could move if she wanted to, and she could feel that.

A sigh of relief fell from her. And there was only one way she wanted to move.

Immediately she stood, with every intention of leaving the house. The animal of her still would have liked to pounce Paul and claw out his eyes, but leaving seemed more practical to Crystal’s more socialized side. After all, if Paul’s failsafe really did work, he’d definitely freeze her up if she tried to physically attack.

Unfortunately, she had just barely turned in place to angle for the front door when Paul said, softly, “Breaker,” and immediately Crystal’s body seized up still.

“That served as a good testing opportunity,” Paul commented. “But also as a good teaching opportunity. I’ll stop you if you try to attack me. I’ll also stop you if you try to leave. We can do this as many times as you like. It will be easier if you just give me the chance to hypnotize you more pleasantly— would you like the chance to resist? To prove you’re stronger than me, better? Because I can keep you frozen still, and give you the more pleasant hypnosis within that cage. Or I can give you that more pleasant experience while you have free range of motion and resistance. Your choice.”

He let her stand there immobile another minute. She burned hatefully the whole time.

“Crystal, you have free range of movement and resistance again,” Paul said finally. There was a note of warning in his voice. He would freeze her again if she made another escape attempt— then maybe he would keep her frozen like that, and do whatever he was going to do to her mind.

The other idea he’d presented was a more tempting one— more tempting than hopeless escape attempts, destined failures. Resisting him. Overcoming him, defeating him, having the satisfaction of rubbing that in his face.

With free control over her own body, Crystal turned in place, and sat back down in the chair.

“A much smarter choice, Crystal. Well chosen. Stand and follow me now.”

There was no impulsion in her to do so— Paul was standing, walking away, disappearing— she could keep sitting here. It was no victory at all, though, to resist nothing. She had to be presented with the combatting thing, the tempting thing. After a minute she stood, and followed him.

He’d led them into the kitchen, to his kitchen sink.

“Turn the tap on,” Paul said. He was standing to the side of the sink, his body facing inwards. Crystal stepped to the sink of her own freewill, with Paul facing her completely at her side, and of her freewill, turned the faucet on.

“Hands under the water,” Paul said next. She did as told.

She couldn’t deny the water felt pleasing. It was a cool temperature but not too cold. And it just felt good, to have that water sluicing over her hands. Soothing.

“This is what hypnosis can feel like for you,” Paul said. “Liquid relief pouring over you— that will feel better on your mind.”

It would definitely be preferable to being blinded, being cut.

But she was going to resist him. She was sure of that.

“Every moment of responding to hypnotic influence is just this,” Paul said, gently. “This is what hypnotic influence is. It sluices over you. It feels like wet relief— pleasant when it falls on your body, when it falls on your mind— you relieve yourself in it— then there’s more of it— you relieve yourself more— a very peaceful thing— feeling that liquid hypnotic falling through your body. It’s on your hands, but it’s in your body too.”

To Crystal’s alarm, she could feel that— he was hypnotizing her again, she realized. It seemed to be working— it was inside, it sluiced down just like the sensation of the water sluicing over her hands— in comparison to what had blinded and cut before, it did feel like relief— she opened herself to it slightly— like someone standing in the perfect shower, indulging in the pleasure of that.

The second she felt that opening— she slammed whatever it was that had opened shut. She kept her focus on the feeling of her mind— her clear-headed, wise-judging, mind— that kept her above what sluiced through her from the neck down.

She shook her head. “I won’t let it work,” she said.

“I see that,” Paul said, conversationally.

He reached past her for the tap— and turned it until the water became heated instead of cool.

Crystal squeaked and bounced a little on her feet.

The heat gave it a different quality. The liquid hypnotic inside her mimicked the water outside her— and so now it was heated inside her too— that warmth— the coolness had been pleasant— but the warmth was something she wanted to turn towards— like a flower to the sun— like in a perfectly heated shower, turning around to get the spray on the front of your body.

Crystal dragged her awareness back to her mind. Clear-headed, wise-judging— it didn’t matter how good the heat felt— didn’t matter that the sensation of the hypnotic was heated liquid pouring through her body, soothing every part of her from inside— easing out tension she hadn’t known was there—

“No,” Crystal said, more resolutely. “I’m winning. You can’t hypnotize me. The hypnosis runs through me but it doesn’t touch my mind. You can’t touch my mind—”

Paul’s voice was thoughtful. “You can feel that liquid hypnotic running through you— even down in your lower back, down in your womb— can’t you?”

Crystal hadn’t noticed it much— but— she could—

“What does it usually mean when you feel something hot and spilling down there?”

“Arousal, but I’m not—”

“But you can feel things hot and wet— dripping inside your breasts— inside your vagina— inside your womb— in your lower back— it’s the same sensation, isn’t it?”

Crystal sucked her teeth. “N-no— I know it’s not— I know I’m not— it just looks the same on the surface, that doesn’t mean it’s actually the same inside.”

The warm liquid was running over her hand. The liquid hypnotic was warm inside too— running through all those places and now Crystal was aware of it— running in her breasts, in her back— in her vagina, in her womb— it was feeling slightly more like pleasure now her attention had been called to it.

“This is what is to be hypnotized for you, now,” Paul said with a statement of finality— and for a moment Crystal hoped that would be it— she’d kept herself out of whatever trap he’d meant for this to be— but he spoke again.

“And what if— the liquid hypnotic runs inside you— and at the same time, this: if your body were doused in alcohol on the outside— if your skin were so porous that just exposure to it— was enough for it to drunken you— intoxicate you— it’s alcohol running on your hands now, Crystal— while the liquid hypnotic runs inside.”

Crystal let out a gasp. Her mind had aligned itself to this hypothetical immediately. She knew she was looking at a tap, but it wasn’t what she felt. The clingingness of liquid alcohol, when felt spilled on skin— she felt that on her hands— and her skin was so porous it touched her, and she started to feel buzzed, tipsy.

It was the opposite of how hypnosis had been before— not brilliant clarity, but exactly the dimming, the smudgedness— the blurriness.

And yet that wasn’t happening independently— in a way she didn’t understand yet, it was tied to… that warm-running liquid hypnotic in all her erotic places— the hypnotic ran there— the intoxication intensified— the intoxication intensified— then that sensation of arousal— which still wasn’t real arousal, she fought back, she’d never concede that— that sensation intensified. The two experiences seemed to be in some kind of horrible, unholy, unnatural partnership.

Her head felt like it was swimming again. Not so clearheaded now, not so wise-judging— just starting to feel drunk— and really starting to feel the warmth run in her sensitive places, feeling it run in earnest.

Paul reached over and turned the water tap off, turned Crystal to face him.

She was looking at his face— the sensation of the water stopping had immediately cleared her head, restored her to normality.

“Recite for me, Crystal. Just say this phrase: I am hypnotized.”

Crystal snorted. That wouldn’t do it.

“I am hypnotized.” She was shocked at what happened. The liquid hypnotic spilled in her, mimicking arousal— and it intoxicated her— and the intoxication mimicked arousal again—

How had that worked?

“You can leave now,” Paul said. “I’ll wait for you to come to me, next time.”

When Crystal was thinking about it in bed that night, it made more sense to her again. He’d established basic control over her when he’d told her to stir her coffee. He’d reinforced his control with all that of immobilizing her body— he’d reinforced the idea in her head over and over that he had control of her, that she automatically followed his influence— that was why she’d had to go automatically to his home when he’d told her to, and it was why simply stating a hypothetical scenario made it real in her brain.

But this was a dangerous situation now— and one she had already escaped. She wouldn’t go back— so she was safe. If she had kept going back, it would have been dangerous— because he had the means to make her body believe it was becoming aroused— and intoxicated— and he had the means to keep those two states connected to each other, worsening each other, feedbacking off each other— he’d described ‘preliminary’ stages of hypnosis before, but maybe with this new mechanic of hypnosis, he could have gotten her to more advanced stages— and it was shudder-inducingly frightful to imagine what those stages would be like.

So it was good she would never go back to him voluntarily, she thought, as she rolled over to go to sleep. Good, too, that he seemed to have given up on winning her feral side over— it was no more disposed to liking him than it had been before— had enjoyed the intoxication aspect— as it had been her feral side which used to drink her stupid or drink her to blackout back in her punk club days. But overall it was still indifferent to him at best— rageful to him at worst.

She was done with Paul, she wouldn’t have to see him again.

A month passed, and Crystal started to feel better. Glad to be out of that situation with him. But one thought lingered.

The liquid hypnotic had mimicked arousal well. Maybe too well— Crystal didn’t think she’d ever quite felt arousal like that— arousal so satisfying, so dripping warm, so constantly coursing.

This was really becoming clearer to her in her second month out.

She didn’t quite know who she was, anymore. She didn’t quite recognize herself— all the thinking she was doing, she was doing it while in her right mind— and her respectable self was the one she could barely recognize. If she had been under the control of her feral side at all times, and her feral side was the one thinking of such things— that at least would make sense.

But it was her— normal Crystal, the one who thought of herself as so responsible— she was the one who kept thinking about that feeling— the feeling which being hypnotized had been transformed into— from what it had been at first, to what it was now.

She was the one who kept thinking of that— at work, or when she was derbying— as she traveled from one of her life’s locations to another— she kept considering it in her mind, like it was becoming a fixation for her. And that made her feel like a stranger to herself.

She feared Paul’s power, a little. It seemed to her now that there had been something inside her, before— some kind of independence, some kind of self-reliance. A determination. And that had been a not insignificant part of who she was, when she was her more civilized self.

And it felt now like Paul had seized that— seized it like it was a downed tree-branch of moderate length, and width— held it horizontal in his hands, and with a flexing of his grip in opposite directions, had snapped it fully in half.

And that same sense of independence in her was broken now— she didn’t feel she could quite rely on herself— in that broken place only, some part of her now believed that she needed Paul— though he had been her breaker, her destroyer in this sense— though he had taken up that rounded, felled branch of her independence and torn it apart— she now felt that he was the only one who could please her— who could make feel that good pleasure. She didn’t quite trust herself to be able to provide that, not anymore.

She didn’t give up masturbating, of course. Under more normal circumstances, she masturbated a few times a week. At least that was how things had gone before Paul.

These days, she was masturbating every night— but masturbating skeptically. She always thought first, a little longingly, of the bursts of orgasm she’d had in the past— they had never be exquisite, or outstanding. But they had been serviceable, and more importantly, she hadn’t known what she was missing out on.

But now, each night when she lay down to masturbate before bed, she always felt a little bitter. Sure, she could masturbate, and she would, but no matter what she did, it wouldn’t be like that warm-running liquid hypnotic.

That warm-running liquid hypnotic… running through her breasts, down her back, down her spine— in her womb, in her vagina— whatever she did to herself at night, it would never feel like that, nothing else ever could.

She went into her nightly masturbation sessions, already resigned. If she had an orgasm it would be fine. But she would know what she was missing, now. And she wouldn’t enjoy any self-produced orgasm as much as she had once done. No orgasm she could make herself ever felt like the coursing— and though it was an alarming thought to her, it was that coursing feeling that Crystal was missing— even craving, maybe.

Here she was, on another night in her second month after escaping Paul. Her day, though it had been long, was finally ending— and she was lying down on her double bed, wearing a sleep-shirt and sleep-shorts. She was going to masturbate. And she knew it would be disappointing; she was both resigned and bitter.

She needed Paul— needed him to give her— that warm coursing feeling— that liquid hypnotic— but she knew she couldn’t go back to him. It would be too dangerous— he exerted too much power over her; was too skilled at changing her head— after all, he was the one who had taken up an internal piece of her landscape and snapped it in half, leaving it broken and needing him forever in its brokenness.

She rededicated herself to that night’s masturbation. She was lying on her back, so with one hand she reached up to a breast, and just started feeling at it— feeling how it was to have it in her hand, feeling how it felt to shift it a little this way, a little that.

It was only making her feel a light amount of arousal— and the kind of arousal she’d been used to before, a shining, bright arousal— but with none of the running— none of the dripping—

She had to stop thinking of what she was missing out on. It only made her more frustrated.

She kept playing at one breast. She slipped her other hand beneath the band of her sleep-shorts, and found her pussy.

It had a trickle of arousal to it— but not much— not like—

She forced herself to be present with her body. The feeling of manipulating her breast— and the feeling of first penetrating herself with two fingers— then three. She was tight, so it took a lot of effort to work her fingers inside herself, and even then, once they were there, it was only giving her negligible pleasure at best.

“Ugh,” she cried in frustration. She tried squeezing her breast faster, almost pumping it— while at the same time she arched her wrist to push her fingers in deeper— but it was hardly doing anything.

She kept going, getting more and more frantic on the bed— she was thrusting off it, humping her hand into the air, falling back onto it, plunging her up and down with the help of gravity— she didn’t feel any different— any better— she was trying to think about it now— she spent her nights trying to masturbate this way— and often she went on so long she fell asleep somewhere in the attempt— come to think of it, had she come even once since Paul had broken her?

She groaned, but it was not a groan in any sense erotic. No, she hadn’t gotten off, not even one time— she tried, and it was always this dissatisfying, frustrating experience— an experience that just went on for hours, until finally she’d worked herself up into such a state of exhaustion that she fell asleep. Maybe she literally needed Paul— it seemed he had hypnotically locked her orgasms to himself, locked them onto his person— he could give them to her, but she couldn’t take them for her own— no matter how she tried— and she was trying now, whining, and moaning, and grunting. Twisting, and writhing and thrashing, plunging her fingers into herself with all the power of her arm, groping her breast with all the force of her hand. Her arousal had barely gone up one notch.

This was like exercise, it was so frenetic— she was sweating through her pajamas, she was straining her muscles and making them tired— all of the above, and she still wasn’t coming.

She flopped back on the bed with a sigh. There had been nights she had tried stuffing herself with increasingly ridiculous things— she’d tried getting a hard bottle in there— she’d also taken her back massager, once, turned it up to the highest setting and pressed it directly to her clit— and sat for hours until her clit had gone numb. She wasn’t going to both with either of these efforts now.

She came to her last desperate hope. Self-hypnosis. Maybe— that could work, right? Couldn’t it?

All she’d had to do before had been to say it. With something like hope, she shifted a little on the bed before stilling, on her back she had been the entire time. She said, “I am hypnotized.”

She waited— looking around the room as if something might materialize.

Nothing happened.

That was locked from her too. Locked only onto Paul. If she wanted either orgasm or hypnotic state, she needed him, needed to return to him.

She let out a cry of frustration, groping over her face with both hands while her eyes were wrenched shut. But she couldn’t return to him, he was dangerous! Just showing up there would be a huge risk— who knew in what ways he would change her if he had even one more chance? She’d let it go too far, he’d already had far too many chances— she wouldn’t put herself in danger, wouldn’t so cavalierly throw aside all concerns for consequence.

But since this was the choice she made, it meant that the rest of that second month went the same way— passing in a haze of frustration, and failed attempts at both pleasure and self-hypnosis. She couldn’t coax her mind into the hypnotic state on her own— and she did try to go beyond the basic “I am hypnotized” — online, sought out spiral graphics, watched them turn— felt nothing— tried listening to pre-recorded mantras— learned a little more about hypnosis than she’d known before— and it all only frustrated her more. Anyone else accessing the resources she was finding could access the hypnotic state through those resources— but none of them did anything to her.

Part of her believed if she could just find a way to put herself under— then she could break Paul’s mental lock— she told herself that would be the key to orgasm.

But she was also very afraid that she was only doing it for the sake of having that hypnotic experience again.

The second month became the third month. By the day she became more desperate. No attempt at masturbation succeeded— and when she masturbated now, she tried watching porn, tried finding more and more extreme porn, just to elicit a reaction— and nothing. No attempt at self-hypnosis succeeded either.

How long could she really manage without experiencing release? She was starting to feel it was driving her a little out of her head— avoiding Paul was denying herself, and how long could she do that without caving? It was dangerous, Paul was a danger— however… attractive he could be, however alluring— how could he be, when she hated him now for what he’d done to her, but she had thought he was once…

Maybe he was alluring… alluring but still a danger to her— like something evil, something deadly tempting her closer— and when she approached, if she was weak enough to approach she would die. Or her mind would die, or her freedom.

That was all a little dramatic, maybe. But at the very least, drawing close to something dangerous was not a good idea, and it would not be good for her— she had to protect herself.

She made it through the third month, clinging to that belief. Each failed attempt gave her a shakier standing. But at least while it was the third month, the knowledge that she had to protect herself, had to avoid Paul, had to care about how badly things would go if she gave in— that knowledge was enough to get her through.

Still, as day after day passed with no orgasm— one question was the refrain. How long could she hold out? How long could she make herself wait for another orgasm?

It turned out the answer to that question was three months and three weeks. Because in the fourth month, she knew she just couldn’t last any longer. She fed herself comforting self-fictions— maybe Paul would just give her pleasure, maybe he really wouldn’t change things around in her head anymore.

But she had to face the fact that she understood the very real possibility that he would play in her head again. Had to face that she understood that, and how that could go wrong for her— had to face that even in her understanding, she was still going over to his house to see him.

Paul wasn’t surprised to see her when he opened the door to her.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Crystal said. “I stood up to your hypnosis last time— and I stayed away for four months. I’ve been resisting well. It’s just… resistance is more impressive in the face of temptation, isn’t it? So tempt me, and I’ll resist you again, and it’ll probably be six months before you see me again. Or you never will.”

She’d never admit to him what a loss for her this was, her turning up to see him.

Paul smiled indulgently. “Of course. But why don’t we go upstairs this time? To my bedroom.”

She’d asked for greater temptation. In another situation, this might have been more of one— but she still wasn’t particularly interested in Paul, let alone attracted to him.

When they got there, Crystal saw they’d reached a simple room, with a simple double bed. Paul didn’t get onto it. He stood leaning against his dresser, holding either elbow in either hand as he had his arms crossed.

Crystal stood in front of him, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides.

“Start to become hypnotized, Crystal. I’m hypnotizing you now.” He watched her with his patient eyes.

The statement had spilled the liquid hypnotic in her. Crystal resisted enough to keep the automatic moan in, which had nearly escaped her— yesssss, this that she’d craved for— but she knew how dangerous her position was.

She struggled to haul herself out of the river now running through her body. It ran through her head, her neck, her muscles— her breasts— her back— it sloshed against her spine— it ran through her womb, ran through her vagina. Masturbation never felt like this— and when she felt that hypnotic, it started to fuzz out her mind— like she’d just finished a first glass of wine.

She remembered she had to resist— it was all well and good to feel this way, but Paul wasn’t to be trusted— and anything else he tried to do to her— or make her do— she shouldn’t do it.

“Do you want to co-operate with me?” Paul asked.

“No,” Crystal snapped— her fury actually fueled slightly by the buzz. It lowered her inhibitions.

Paul smiled benevolently. “That’s fine. Let the hypnotic run. Let it course.”

It did. It wasn’t further intoxicating her— or arousing her— it was just repeating at the level it was already at. And that level felt good— the warmth rushing river-fast through all parts of her, mimicking pleasure so well in her erogenous zones she wouldn’t deny it anymore. She was turned on— it was arousal.

Maybe ten minutes passed this way. Maybe twenty. Then Paul spoke again— “Do you want to co-operate with me?”

“Only… a little… I’ll co-operate, and then I’ll fight harder.”

Paul nodded. “Recite what’s true, Crystal. Say ‘I am hypnotized.’”

“I am hypnotized,” Crystal repeated. She tried to resist the impulse towards crying out, but failed that time— the cry of shocked pleasure escaped her. There was more of that hypnotic coursing through her, coursing everywhere— and more force in that coursing, more pressure— greater heat— feeling so much better than before— she felt the intoxication of a second glass of wine.

Paul stepped a few paces forward— took hold of her body, and moved her back until she was to the dresser— leaning back into it, breathing heavy, and he was standing, arms crossed and watching, in front of the bed.

“You seem like you need the leaning-support more than I,” he commented, then went on. “I’ve had you in the preliminary stages before— the first steps of entrancement. But now as you recite that statement, it will advance you. Further and further. Making you more and more hypnotized. More and more entranced.”

Crystal shook her head. This was the part where she needed to resist— she had to find the strength in herself for doing that— becoming more hypnotized was something she needed to avoid, above all.

As long as she didn’t say it again— as long as she kept her mouth closed, left her voice unused— she wouldn’t say it again, wouldn’t become further hypnotized— wouldn’t experience more of the coursing— pleasure, yes it was— wouldn’t experience more of the mental intoxication— even the mental intoxication was tempting now.

Paul had designed a directly opposite experience to that of the blinding, cutting awareness— soft, fuzzing intoxication, a perfect opposite, a perfect temptation, a perfect relief— and she felt her mind simmering that way now— it was something she should shut out— when she was drunk this way it made it hard to focus, hard to think— hard to make good decisions— and everything she decided needed to be a decision of resistance.

But her mind felt so… inebriated— and her body felt so— so turned on— the inebriation was soft and soothing— made her feel like everything was going to be okay no matter what she did, made her feel like she didn’t need to worry about anything— and the arousal made her feel like she was in the plateau between orgasms, everything hazy and delicious, as if she had had some satisfaction before and had a second satisfaction to look forward to— though she had never yet had an orgasm in this… hypnotized state.

Thinking the word did not evoke the response that saying it did. But it made her slow brain remember, made it want to speak.

No, she tried to warn herself off— she was still enough herself to maintain slight control— but giving in further— becoming hypnotized further— she didn’t know how well she’d be able to control things then. She could still judge rightly— a little— she shouldn’t say it…

But if she did… oh, she didn’t care if there was some negative consequence— everything in her body and mind felt good, it would only feel better if she said—

“I am hypnotized,” she said breathily. She was three glasses of wine drunk— the force, the pressure, the heat of the coursing hypnotic— she sagged back against the dresser, practically lying on it even while standing up.

That had felt good. It was like drinking. One drink feeling good, and leading to the next.

Then the next. Then the next.

There was a reason she shouldn’t say it— shouldn’t do it— but it felt so good, she wanted— she wanted more— resistance didn’t feel like this. Nothing felt like this. So unwise to do it— but she was feeling so drunk now she could barely remember what that meant.

“I am hypnotized,” she said— her legs nearly buckled— she almost never let herself get up to four drinks any time she went out, not since she’d started living her more respectable life— it felt so good— “I am hypnotized,” she said, quickly, and then, “I am hypnotized—” again. She was dizzy. It was hard to stand— something else was happening.

Her respectable self was losing control. As in her punk days when she’d sometimes drunk herself stupid, the animal in her was out and feral. And it still hated Paul— still wanted to hurt him— she succumbed to that feral feeling and threw herself at him, pouncing, knocking him back to the bed, trying to claw at his eyes.

Even pinned beneath her, he grappled, taking hold of her hands, stopping them from reaching his eyes. “I hoped I could force you out. Listen to me. I didn’t forget about you. All you understand is violence as an outlet for passion. But pleasure can be that too— be feral, be wild— but fuck that way, see how good that feels.”

Paul was a little breathless from being tackled.

The feral-Crystal had as much arousal lingering in her body as the flagging, respectable-Crystal had had. But feral-Crystal had much fewer inhibitions— and she was seriously considering what Paul had said.

Paul shifted his body under hers, until his erection was straining through his pants to make itself known at Crystal’s crotch.

“Tell me, if you remember like this— what did you do those four months you stayed away?”

Even in her feral state, even hostile to him, she was hypnotized deeply enough she answered honestly, as she would not have done before.

“Tried masturbating. Never felt like the coursing. Couldn’t orgasm. Tried hypnotizing myself. Recited same statement. Didn’t work. Tried other recommended hypnotic methods. Nothing worked.”

Paul smiled in self-satisfaction. “You need me to initiate it for you. I’m the only one who can hypnotize you like this, make you feel these things. And unless you’re already in light trance, there’s nothing to deepen. You need me.”

Feral-Crystal did not argue.

Paul ground up against her again. “I think you need me physically, too. You’re so turned on, I know you are— why fight, when in your wild nature? You wanted me once— take me— have me.”

Clothes were shucked, shamblingly.

Paul stayed where he was on the bed— his eyes watchful. Feral-Crystal had partially shredded her own clothes in the attempt at getting them off her body. But she was naked now— and animal curious— she prowled back to Paul, now naked, wondering if it could really be like he said— if she could vent frustration through base rutting.

Paul wet his lips as he watched Feral-Crystal crawl. His pupils were wide.

Feral-Crystal had gotten her clothes off, but Paul had not undressed. She pulled at his clothing too, partly shredding them— but she got him naked without him even having to sit up— though most of what he’d worn was now in tatters.

In frustration she threw all remains of clothing onto Paul’s floor. Now she and Paul were the only thing on the bed— both finally naked— and Feral-Crystal was not a patient creature.

She swung her legs astride him, until she was straddling. She took hold of his cock from its root, angling it for her pussy— then she dropped herself on it.

The half-thought intention had been to plunge him into her— but she only just got around his cockhead, and then it was obvious this plan was not going to work. Paul’s cock was too substantial— too satisfying— he had too much width, too much girth to him— she had to put her body down onto him slowly— like a sinking— where he kept boring up into her— Feral-Crystal hissed at that boring feeling, that relentlessly driving upwards as she softly, smoothly, slickly went down— sinking— gently like nothing about her was gentle— but by necessity she had to be slow.

She was breathing with effort, her back hunched, raising hackles that weren’t there, by the time she was fully onto him, and he, fully into her.

Paul’s hands came to rest on either of Feral-Crystal’s arms— in a gesture of soothing.

He gave her a very serious look.

“Be wild, now, Crystal,” he encouraged her. “There is no cage here. Get all your aggression out— do it this way, do it with me.”

It had been the only thing she needed to hear. Paul had called her wildness forth— now it proceeded from her.

Feral-Crystal started jumping on him— she was bouncing the bed, bouncing both their bodies on it— Paul grunted— from underneath her, he couldn’t maneuver much— but this seemed intentional for him— he was presenting himself for her to plunder, for her to work her issues out on— that drove Feral-Crystal a little wilder, and she let out a half-growl— jumped him up, down, harder, making his cock hit against the insides of her— the bed letting out noises of complaint, she was pushing it too far— she didn’t care if it broke. She wanted to break and tear and claw— but this— this almost felt that violent— she snapped her hips up and then down again, indented the bed, indented Paul’s body, choked his cock so tight with her pussy it must be painful for him— and when she grabbed his face, to take from his lips as she took from the rest of him, she kissed with sharp teeth— nicking lip-flesh, bringing out spots of blood— her tongue snapped in his mouth against his, as their hips kept snapping together.

No position was good enough— Feral-Crystal just knew she wanted to fuck him every way that she could, as many times as she could— it wasn’t enough, there was so much in her she had to get out— they were a frenzy of constant motion— fucking in that first position, fucking on their sides, then fucking with Paul on top of her and Feral-Crystal underneath.

And Feral-Crystal felt like she had her claws out all the time— when they streaked across Paul’s bed she was clawing the sheets, shredding them— then scraps of them came away and tangled around them— they kept moving like two people who had completely lost every bit of wits they had— sweating, gulping in heaving breaths, never done moving, never done making their bodies join.

And Feral-Crystal slapped— and Feral-Crystal grabbed— she scrabbled, needing more, wanting more— she was bruising and marking him up, because she was so roughly trying to take more of him— but it was the sexual part of it all that was giving her her relief this time— not the violence— the minor-violence happening, minor by Feral-Crystal’s standards, only happened because she was incapable of reaching for the world gently.

But when Paul was finally in position over her, and she was holding onto him, she held to his back, to keep him close to her— and to keep him close to her— she used her claws for this too, clawing through his back— and he only plundered her passage with his cock more forcefully— it was hurting her too, but it felt so good— to have so much sensation, so much intensity, to be this wild— to abandon all pretense of civility…

They were still frenzied as they coupled in their arrived-at position; the sheets were a torn tangle around them— still Crystal, slapped, grabbed, scrabbled, clawed— and still the bed screeched as if it was on the brink of breaking even now— and after this long frenzy, there was at last, two shouts of orgasm— one human-sounding, and one more like a howl.

Crystal woke the next morning in her own bed, with her head pounding like she was hungover.

She clearly remembered everything from the night before— it made her hide her face in her hands.

The animal in her was curled up, contented— practically purring. Paul had effectively gotten it on-side— won it over. The roller derby which Crystal always craved as her outlet for aggression seemed pathetic now.

She could remember how it had felt to merge with the animal— how it always felt in those moments— and no hits taken derbying had ever satisfied as supremely as fucking aggressively— no actual experience of getting drunk had ever been that enjoyable either, even if the hypnosis last night had so badly impaired her thought process she’d forgotten she was supposed to keep resisting— and when she’d been hypnotized enough— had dropped her defenses enough— the animal had taken over; she’d lost control— and just merged with it— enjoying the experience then— there’d been no resistance at all— she’d only co-operated, telling Paul what he wanted to know, when she had initially refused to even recite the statement as asked.

If only it hadn’t been one of the most pleasurable experiences of her life. If only being hypnotized— being entranced— if only it wasn’t one of the best sensations she’d ever felt.

The animal in her liked Paul, now— wanted him— wanted to keep being feral with him, fucking him feral— wanted to lose all control, get drunker, get hornier, fuck more— fully vent all its aggression out.

And Crystal resented Paul— but she remembered the look on his face, the satisfaction there as he’d told her she needed him, possibly making it permanently true— though her brokenness before had seemed to imply it had already been partly true to begin with. She remembered, though, how he’d looked as he said that he was the only one who could hypnotize her, give her a trance like that— and that was the first trace of attraction she’d felt to him since he’d first assumed such disturbing control over her. But she did feel it— her mind wanted to linger on that alluring look which had been on his face— his confidence— his knowingness.

She felt hungover but she was craving more of the same experience. Where would it end? The intensity of the hypnosis’ effect only grew more powerful each time she had an encounter with Paul— if she let him— if she let him— if she became vulnerable to him under hypnosis once more, and gave him indefinite time to work on her— then what would he make of her? What would happen to her?

She was scared. She knew everything that had happened— and yet some part of her still didn’t understand how she couldn’t have gotten into such a bad situation. She didn’t see a way out, either— she had to resist— she’d failed badly last time— but if she faced him once more— if this time she defeated him, and defeated his control— then maybe he would leave her alone, finally— maybe he would even undo everything he’d done to her so far.

Only two days had passed when Crystal showed back up on Paul’s doorstep. He opened the door to her knock, folded his arms over his chest again, and watched her with friendly-looking amusement.

She reminded herself how dangerous he was. What he’d so far done to her brain. What he could still do.

“A deal,” she said, her voice verging on desperate. “If I resist you today— if I hold out— you have to undo everything you’ve done to me— take it all out of my head—”

She hated the way the animal in her was now basking, just from being close to Paul.

“I’m risking a lot by coming here,” she said, when he didn’t answer. “You… did a lot of damage to me a few days ago— with what you changed around, what you reinforced.”

“It seemed to me that it liberated you,” Paul said. “But alright— if this time, after I have my shot at hypnotizing you, you successfully resist me— I’ll set you free. Why don’t you come up to the bedroom with me again?”

She followed him, her stomach dropping further with every step. She was in a dangerous place, heading towards a dangerous risk— but risking the risk was the only way she could possibly win— she hadn’t seen any other way out, any way other than this.

She had a plan in mind, though. Every time Paul tried to hypnotize her, tried to deepen her, or force her to self-deepen, she would immediately fight back against that— she would think what she wanted to remember: that she wanted to win, that she wanted to be free— she would cling to that, no matter how drunk she felt she’d become. It would work, she assured herself. It had to.

As soon as they were standing in the bedroom, Crystal tried to speak her phrase. “I am hyp—”

A quick step of his foot, and Paul was close in front of her, with his finger resting against her lips. “Let me hypnotize you first.”

She’d forgotten that step. If she’d finished her statement, it wouldn’t have done anything.

When Paul saw she was waiting, he seemed appeased. He dropped his hand, nodded once.

“Hearing these words hypnotizes you. In listening, you are being hypnotized into a light trance.”

That started it going. One glass of wine down— the first level of intensity for the rushing pleasure— it felt so amazing— she just wanted more— wanted to get drunker— get hornier—

That was what the animal had been thinking. She was dangerously bleeding into it, letting it bleed into her.

No, she thought, resistively. I want to be free. I’ll resist. I’ll win. No matter how drunk I get— how turned on.

Now that he had put her mind into a shallow trance, that gave her the power to control when she deepened, and how much.

“I am being hypno—”

Again he stopped her, so the effect did not result.

“Something else today,” Paul said. “Surely you’ll still be able to resist even after your initial co-operation.”

Even partly entranced, even with the purring, pleased animal inside, Crystal was distrustful of Paul. He’d rig the game somehow, here— make it impossible for her to win. A vision of him instructing her to masturbate herself passed through her mind— and it made her pussy clench in hunger— if he wanted he could just tell her to masturbate until she broke— and no matter how badly she wanted to resist— the thought alone of being told to masturbate— the thought alone of being able to masturbate and get pleasure back from it— she wouldn’t be able to refrain. He could cheat right now, and it would mean his assured victory.

For, once she was masturbating, she would either become so turned on and so drunk that she would eventually capitulate— or if she somehow held herself back from orgasm, then it would go the way it had nightly in that horrible four month period; ending with her collapsing into sleep mid-masturbation; that wouldn’t quite be like victory— because once she woke up, Paul would just be able to hypnotize her again— and maybe that time she would capitulate— or he’d make her drive herself to unconsciousness again— that was turning her on, her mind was a dangerous place to be when it was entranced— but the thought of Paul stand there impassively, forcing her to drive herself into the ground again and again, forcing her to wear herself out to unconsciousness, letting her wake from it only to make her do it again— she was secretly hoping for him to so cruelly cheat— hoping he would be cruel in that way— it was the animal in her that wanted that— because that experience would be like violence too— it would get the animal’s aggression out— the fact that she was craving it meant the feral within her was bleeding through her even more. And more quickly now, too.

But Paul did nothing which indicated this was his plan. He looked at her thoughtfully.

“Did you have a plan for demonstrating your ultimate resistance?”

Only one glass of wine drunk, and she was finding it so hard to concentrate. So hard to concentrate when the liquid hypnotic still spilled within her, when it raised her levels of erotic craving higher and higher with each spill— and endrunkened her— paradoxically endrunkening her but keeping her at the same level of intoxication she’d already sunken to.

She shook her head.

“You just trusted me to think of something objective and fair?” He seemed pleased, to think he was well thought of. He wore a contented little smile.

She didn’t trust him— but somehow she just— hadn’t really thought about it— she’d been so focused on making the deal, she hadn’t been thinking of its details. Some part of her had hand-waved the problem, taking it for granted that Paul would just know the ideal deal to offer her. She hadn’t examined that dismissing part of her mind too closely. Maybe she should have. But now it was too late.

“It’s alright,” Paul said. “I will do fairly by you. If you can win, by the terms of my deal, I will remove all the hypnotic influence that your mind is soaking in right now.”

That made the animal rabid with fear— and on some level, a part of her was reaching for what hadn’t yet been taken from her— reaching mournfully, not wanting to see it go.

No, she told herself, this was good— this was the way out she wanted, that she needed.

“I’ve got a watch in my dresser drawer, right here. I’ll get it out— and I’ll count fifteen minutes. If you can last to the end of that fifteen minutes— without touching yourself, I’ll set your mind free, and you’ll never have to see me again. No tricks, no cheats. Just last for fifteen minutes.”

She almost broke into laughter. Fifteen minutes! Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes was nothing, right, fifteen minutes would be fast.

It was just an exercise in willpower— she’d been counting on her willpower when she showed up here today, sure it could come through for her now.

Crystal sat herself on the edge of Paul’s bed. He reached into the drawer he had earlier indicated, and he took out the watch, holding it in his hand, the band bisecting his palm— the watch face must be resting against his palm’s center.

He pushed the drawer closed, and leaned against his dresser once more, glanced briefly at the palm of his hand— then looked at her where she sat, and indicated the time to her.

“Your fifteen minutes starts now.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. She was so close to freedom. So close to victory. She didn’t need to think about what would happen to her if she lost instead.

But now she was thinking about it. It wouldn’t happen, it wouldn’t ever happen, because she was going to win— but if— if she— if she touched herself...

There must have been something in her Paul was able to read, able to understand. He’d seen, somehow, her desperation towards masturbation. She couldn’t and wouldn’t.

She was already a little hypnotized, though, and she needed something to say, something to repeat again and again.

“I won’t touch myself,” she said, quietly, a chant for herself.

But of course Paul heard it too.

“I was a little too unclear, there. You can masturbate, if you think it will help you— it’s if you have an orgasm— that’s what I will consider a concession.”

It seemed dangerous to masturbate— even if she could technically do it, and still win. Only fifteen minutes— but— even if she masturbated without coming— it would give her more pleasure than she’d got from orgasms before— it would give her more pleasure than she’d get from orgasms once she was free. She should take that pleasure while she could— she didn’t need to worry about the danger, about the risk— she didn’t care about it— she could just have the pleasure— and get away with it— just have the pleasure, and still win…

Crystal swallows. She shifted further back onto the bed. She was going to do it— she knew she was going to do it— maybe it was a bad idea— but she couldn’t care about that now. She was— at least— going to be able to taste it— the pleasure— one last time before freedom.

Further onto the bed now, Crystal undressed her body. Paul watched her with eager eyes— then quickly glanced at the watch face in his hand. “Still thirteen minutes to go, Crystal. And I’m afraid I’ll have to insist. You have to show me you can resist against orgasm, and then you’ll win— I’ll keep my part of the deal, then.”

She was naked, reaching for her pleasure center.

“But,” Paul said. “While we’re in this last period of time, your mind still belongs to me. I can hypnotically direct you— not to having an orgasm, that wouldn’t be fair. But in other ways. Ways that are more fair; but really, it is only fair that I have my chance, too. You wanted this to be a battle of wills, so clearly— even if you didn’t set the terms, you were expecting something like this— you wanted to stand up in the face of me, and overcome— so win the battle of wits. It’s only fair I play my side of it. I’m still free to further hypnotize you as long as your mind remains mine. I just can’t force you to lose.”

This stopped Crystal from reaching for herself. And it spilled fear loose in her body.

She’d trapped herself. If she didn’t do it— if she just left— then Paul would win in the long run. He would refuse any future deal if she couldn’t see this one through— and then, after such a failure, he would be able to do whatever he wanted to her. The hypnosis would make it possible— and she’d want to let him, since the animal in her was a traitor to her now.

“I’m going to win,” she said. It made her feel better. “So I can do this— I can masturbate, even if you do hypnotize me more— because I’ll still win— and you’ll take all your influence out of my head, and then you won’t be able to do anything else to me, not ever again.”

She reminded herself that was why she was doing this; that was why she was here— and she was being a little greedy on her way out, trying to get what pleasure she could while it was still available to her.

But she would still win her victory, she reminded herself.

She put a hand on her clit, and did one spin around it.

“That’s the statement,” Paul said immediately. “When your hand swirls your clit, it’s just your body expressing that you are hypnotized. Your body is stating it through physical action— through body language.”

Crystal was more frightened— this was starting to look like a trap she couldn’t get out of— but she was a little drunk, and not thinking clearly. And the drunken, good-time-having part of her brain was curious— was this really what things were like now, was this really how it was going to work?

She swirled her clit— and shrieked.

It felt the same— as if she had just opened her mouth and said, “I am hypnotized,” except somehow it was worse— there was the internal pleasure which came from the hypnotic, which just came from trance, but now she was creating physical pleasure with her hand— pleasure inside from being hypnotized, from being further hypnotized, but then a second heaping of pleasure from touching herself— getting aroused twice over made her intoxicated twice over. She was up to her third glass of wine already— she was… supposed to resist, she remembered, groggily. She needed to… she needed to be free of Paul… this was her only chance…

The animal was eagerly waiting inside, waiting for her to lose all control.

“Being hypnotized changes your brain, and you already understood that. There’s one more change I’d like to make to you— you laid out the terms of your victory, but here are the terms of mine.”

Her head felt sluggish. She should get up, and leave— and just never come back— how much time was left? It seemed like too long… leaving… that was the only way to be safe now. She was too confused to stand.

“If the fifteen minutes comes to its end, then you are mine. I will own you. I might let you carry on masturbating for a while— but I’ll let you know when you’ve failed, if you do.

Then, when I think you’ve had enough, I’ll trigger you into orgasm. When I think you deserve it. And that orgasm will do two things. It will merge you, permanently, with your wilder side. Within that wildness, the fragments of your respectability will remain, but you’ll just be one joined creature.

“And that orgasm will, finally, obliterate your resistance forever. You’ll be mine— you’ll live here. When you leave the house, you’ll still present the same front to society you always have— but it will only be a facade. What you really are inside will be one thing— one thing fully owned by me.”

“Never,” Crystal said, laboredly. “I’ll— make it— I’ll— hold out—”

Paul nodded again. “Continue masturbating. Show me you can resist. Force me to respect the terms of your victory. Get to the fifteen minute mark.”

That made perfect sense to her inebriated mind. Yes— she would! And she could keep masturbating and that would be fine. She would still get to the end of the provided time.

She swirled her clit. Her head spun. She swirled her clit again— the liquid hypnotic wasn’t only spilling in her body, it was escaping it now, flooding out of her vagina, pouring on her fingers, making her clit slick.

This was going wrong… something… it was wrong… but she couldn’t stop swirling her fingers— and every swirl was working her up, making her desperate for orgasm— making her swirl her fingers again— but the orgasm was just always out of reach, always receding just as it seemed she’d nearly reached out.

That was good— the orgasm— it couldn’t happen— if it kept receding— but she was— so— hypnotized— and— she was entrancing herself more— more— entrancing herself, getting her pleasure fix— but she needed to— not go over the edge—

Because if she did. It hadn’t been fifteen minutes yet. And then Paul would leave her masturbating, thinking she looked lovely— and then he would trigger her—

A moment of shocked fear— how could that have been enough? But just thinking of it, in her drunken mind— with so much arousal in her— picturing herself, lost to Paul forever— it spiked one unexpected burst of pleasure in her, and her hand swirled at just the wrong time.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” Crystal howled— but she felt the telltale clenching of her pussy— then felt the pleasure slicing through her everywhere, cutting her up from the inside outward— and she collapsed back, collapsed hard into the bed, her pussy still spasming.

Paul tsked. “You only had two minutes to go, Crystal.”

She flopped within her lying down position, her arms at her sides. She’d lost. She’d lost. She’d lost.

“You don’t have to stop pleasuring, yourself, though. There’ll be a lot more pleasure for you from now— but I really do like to watch you.”

With a sigh— too hypnotized to do anything else, needing to obey even implied commands, Crystal sat herself back up to kneeling, and put her hand back between her legs.

Crystal put her hand back between her legs, and Paul put the watch back away in the drawer.

She masturbated this way for hours. Until she was so drunk she could barely keep her eyes open. And she just needed— she knew he could make it happen for her— she knew she needed that last hypnotic trigger he was withholding from her.

“Please!” She cried out finally, crying out her surrender. Even in the asking, she felt her mind was splitting apart. “Please— make me come—” she didn’t care anymore what the consequence would be.

Paul smiled down on her. “Orgasm, Crystal.”

It wracked her body. She fell back on the bed for the second time, only convulsing more violently, this time— it didn’t seem to stop— she felt her resistance going, washed out on a wave— felt her mind reshaping— one being— Crystal, an always wild-Crystal with fragments of respectability tucked inside—

She could feel Paul’s ownership of her reaching tendrils into her brain. Reaching tendrils into her soul. She was his.

She was still clenching when Paul reached the bed. Still clenching when he penetrated her.

“Every thrust is the statement, Crystal. Every thrust that hits deep. It is your body accepting your state of hypnosis.”

He drove into her, kept fucking her. She felt what it was like, to live this new identity. Two responses mixing together. Gratitude— joy— at being Paul’s creature, Paul’s owned thing— and awareness of who she had once been, what Paul had made her. Hatred at him for making her this. Hatred at herself, for failing when presented with her only chance at escape.

Every thrust inebriated her. Every thrust aroused her.

She would go out tomorrow— she would look the same.

But inside she would only be Paul’s owned thing. Tomorrow, and every day for the rest of her life.

Paul’s thrusts kept hypnotizing her— driving her hopelessly, endlessly deeper. Some residual, vestigial part of her viewed each one as a new danger— but she couldn’t be bothered to care, no matter what old, useless alarms rang themselves. She didn’t care anymore. So what if it was dangerous. It felt so, so good.

And then— finally— Paul was shooting his release into her— she sagged in exhaustion, as he pulled himself out of her.

Maybe she could sleep now. Maybe she could be done— she didn’t think she could take either further pleasure or further hypnosis— though they were disturbingly becoming the same thing.

“I’m going to take a shower, Crystal—” her eyes sought him when she heard him speak— she was completely vulnerable to the desire she had for him now— the hatred didn’t get in the way of it anymore, though it was still elsewhere within her— he was alluring, he always had been— she’d just been mad enough at him for a while she’d wanted to deny the truth.

“You do seem pretty worn out,” Paul considered. “If you can fall asleep, you’re allowed. But while you sleep, while you rest your body, your mind will reconfigure itself. It will rewrite its contents, adjusting you until you accept that you are no longer your own person. It will adjust you until you accept that your are just my possession— my thing, that I own.”

Crystal felt the words snap into place in her mind. Yes. That would happen when she slept.

“You are one thing now— still— unified Crystal— but unified Crystal, both her feral side, and her civilized side, as they are both one within her now— unified Crystal is tamed to me— unified Crystal is domesticated— all of her— confined within the bounds of my hypnosis— confined within the bounds of her desire for me. The civilized fragments of her within the whole may resent this— but I know the feral fragments are tamed and purring at the thought. As unified Crystal, you’ll be able to enjoy that tamed and purring feeling too. You love to be domesticated to me— or you will. And in time, perhaps even your civilized fragments will be swayed.”

It was different, it was true, then it had been before. She was neither civilized Crystal, nor feral Crystal— she was the composite of them both— so she felt that purred, tamed happiness— mixed with that resentful hatred— but neither reaction bothered her, because they were a part of each other now, one global reaction, with two facets— but one thing, and she one being experiencing it.

Maybe someday those civilized fragments within the whole would domesticate too. That would be nice.

Crystal let out a yawn. The wildness was a more integrated part of her now. She could be wild sometimes too— just as a part of being herself, in her own control. Or rather— Paul’s control. It was nice not to be so divided anymore.

“Sleep if you can,” Paul said again. “Your mind will take care of everything— my control will take care of everything.”

Her eyes were too heavy to keep open— she believed him.

She fell asleep, certain on every level that her brain would now be overwritten in just the way Paul had instructed her.