The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“So lovely, isn’t it dear? So easy to keep your eyes on the coin, Jasey. So very easy to do. So easy to let the details become clearer and clearer, while the rest of everything around you gets hazier and hazier. The spiral shape engraved on it easily catches your attention, makes your curious, fascinated eyes follow the path, spiraling further...” Camilla crooned to the utterly beautiful and utterly spellbound woman sitting next to her at the bar. Visiting one of the few chic nightclubs she had yet to visit in Boise, the Mexican-born true hypnotist took advantage of what was currently virgin territory for her, looking to pop its cherry, starting with the stunned brunette in the black cocktail dress who was obviously waiting for someone else. That thought was lost from her mind as her eyes followed the gold-engraved spiral swirling down to the center, smoothly greased along by the true hypnotist’s voice.

“That’s it my dear, spiraling further and further, and further down, into the gold spiral, into the gold coin, into the voice worth more than gold to your mind. Relax as you do so; you need not worry about anything else but the coin and my voice. Let it soothe you...let it comfort you...let it control...and excite you,” Camilla husked, laughing to herself how she struck gold with gold. Little details about the woman told Camilla that she was waiting on a boyfriend who made it a habit of leaving her waiting; twinkling amber eyes turned positively devious at entertaining herself with turning an attractive straight woman lusting for another woman.

“That’s it, so exciting and relaxing all at once. You can’t resist this, it feels too good to refuse. You don’t want to refuse pleasure...you want to spiral, and sink deeper into it. The more you listen....the more you follow....the more you obey....the more pleasure you’ll feel...“

From an unseen point somewhere deep in the sea of people in the club, an unassuming looking man watched the exchange of Camilla plus the other woman. Using short-range surveillance equipment posing as an average smart phone, he clearly heard and recorded every word Camilla spoke, fascinated with how merely a few minutes was all it took for this true hypnotist to capture someone, and even how the bartender that almost interrupted to check on his patrons inadvertently got caught up in it. Camilla smiled, pulling the bartender close to snapping him back to awareness, while still taking the brunette further down.

Unbeknownst to Camilla, Royce had followed her all the way from the Spiral, tailing her to observe what the average true hypnotist in Boise did on the regular, or otherwise. It’d been a week since he’d left Oklahoma City, heeding the advice of the May sisters, the first true hypnotists he’d ever met; as a mercenary and world-class fighter, Boise was inexplicably growing to be one of the centers for constant mercenary work. For the nomadic traveler Royce was, such whispers could be misinterpreted as a bad joke that kept chugging along the grape vine. But hearing it from two practically super-powered hypnotists that could also fight extremely well and had several resources at their fingertips, he certainly got curious enough to investigate things for himself. The mention of a fighting tournament in Boise was definitely the hook the sisters meant to bait him with; after their joint operation and candid discussion, there was a level of trust and camaraderie present, but he was still cautious enough to proceed with the utmost caution.

The nature of the true hypnotism both impressed and scared the hell out of him the more thought he gave it; investigating its existence meant considering their capabilities of mind control. Human inquiries he could make about it could put a target on his back quickly as even the source he’d be talking to might not know that they’re working for a true hypnotist. If the true hypnotists were smart and their reach were as vast his imagination could take him, even direct, electronic searches for it wasn’t totally advisable. Fortunately for him, checking out a lavish hotel in downtown Boise called The Spiral ended up being a perfect place to start. Out of the constant foot traffic coming in and out of the Spiral’s entrance, there always seemed to be one or a group of high-class women, often with an entourage or pack of sycophants trailing behind. More than confidence, the dominance they seemed to radiate even from a distance made an impression, just like the May sisters did. Camilla being among the most common to depart and return often, she became one of the perfect subjects to follow, and slowly gather information from.

It wasn’t long before Camilla and the other woman had finished their drinks, the hypnotized brunette paid for both when she wasn’t lusting over Camilla with her eyes and dopey grin, and they left. Royce took his time and finished his own drink, in no rush to follow as he’d planted a tracking bug under the wheel carriage of Camilla’s car before he entered the club.

He’d eventually tracked them down to a small motel on the outskirts of Boise. Trailing behind them by ten minutes, Royce positioned himself at a distance from the hotel, using more higher-end equipment from his car. Camilla had brought the brunette to meet another woman, someone with short pink hair calling herself Dazzle who’d opened the door to a room. Camilla and Dazzle kissed Parisian-style on the cheeks, while Dazzle emitted some kind of flashing from her eyes towards a gasping Jasey. Royce couldn’t believe how visible and bright the effect seemed from a distance, the clearest example of “super-powered” he’d seen yet. “Kiss me, slut,” Dazzle grinned lewdly as the brunette nearly lunged at the pink-haired woman’s lips with abandon. The kiss lasted until Dazzle flashed a little bit more, bidding her to stop, which she didn’t want to but obeyed anyway.

A turned-on Camilla shook her head at Dazzle’s comparatively-unrefined descriptive word choice. “Temptress, Dazzle. ‘Slut’ is a little demeaning for my tastes.”

“It’s too bad demeaning turns her on though,” Dazzle broke the kiss to grin at her partner, before flashing more mentalism powers at the embraced brunette. “Which are you, a temptress or a slut?”

The question traveled along the flashes of light, making it particularly hard for Jasey to come up with an answer as she was left in a heightened trance state. The mindless slave wanted to enjoy being what she was made into, but felt compelled to answer the posed question, even if she hadn’t been given the correct answer.

“I....I....I..am.....”

“Answer me, slut. Are you a temptress?” Another added flash and question threw Jasey’s mind into an even crueler loop, all the while Dazzle’s hand started teasing the wet spot centered on her panties.

“You are whatever we want you to be,” Camilla commanded in her hypnotic voice from across the room, ending the torture.

“Yes Mistress, I am whatever my Mistresses want me to be,” Jasey gratefully gasped.

“Party pooper,” Dazzle stuck her tongue out.

“We’ll have plenty of time to play with her like that later, you sexy philistine, you,” Camilla laughed. “It never ceases to amaze how cool mentalism can be though,” Camilla commented. “The slow burn of true hypnotism isn’t any less hotter; she was already ready to be a good girl thanks to you.” With the audio equipment fixed, he could listen in and take notes, of which there seemed plenty to take down. Dazzle being a strong acquaintance of some sort, they were very chatty with one another, between feeding Jasey more instructions to embody.

“Hard to believe some people could be stupid enough to think they can run from the Spiral, and be safe on the outskirts of Boise,” the one called Dazzle commented while Camilla seemed to be whispering more suggestions to Jasey, having her mind feed on the pleasure of obeying, becoming mindless and horny to it, for her new mistresses.

“If they were smart, they wouldn’t have tried ripping us off in the first place,” Camilla responded in a clear voice, leaving Jasey to speak a repetitious mantra that grew more breathless as she sounded more and more turned on. “Which high mistress did they piss off?”

“Liliana, most likely. Possibly Jing-Mei due to some rumblings about contacts in Portland.”

The classification system for which Royce arranged things grew ever complicated with each spying session. Most of what he garnered before that night were the extent of their abilities, like bringing subjects out of trance and reveling in their frustration and humiliation as they couldn’t physically stop themselves from degrading them for their new mistress’s pleasure, and sometimes even being made to love it, depending on the true hypnotist. Besides the abilities and tier system this true hypnotism world could be arranged in, he still wondered beyond all other things was why these powers were centered solely, perhaps almost exclusively on women, and why someone like him had evidence of immunity where most others did not. Given the sort of men across the globe in powerful positions he’d met, from the American Midwest, to Europe, to Asia, and other continents, he was silently glad more women were empowered like this.

He was shaken back to the sounds of the motel room, passionate groans and demanding moans, a hot and heavy scene structured only by sound. Royce guessed that Jasey was going down on each woman, one at a time, while the other was doing something additionally. The temperature rose a few degrees in his car as he imagined the three hot women bound by the domination of one or more. With every hypnotic command given to the hypnotized women, he wondered how hot it was for her to be so susceptible to their power, artificially-heated or otherwise.

Keeping with the visualization of the bridge he stood on above the flow of True Hypnotism energies below, he tried imagining Jasey drowning in the waters below. Keeping this visualization all the way from Oklahoma City, he wondered if drowning was an appropriate way of looking at it, as the compulsion to want to drown in it became immediate for every slave he observed. Below him from the bridge, Royce eyed every one like Jasey as quickly ceasing fighting the currents; muscles completely relaxed and seemingly-unconscious in the waters, they either let themselves float, or willingly swam in the current’s direction, desperate to submerge further into it instead of rising above it. And even when some where brought up to be consciously humiliated, the controlled slaves merely floated on the surface, limbs and body still controlled by the currents, able to scream and protest all they like until the currents pulled them back down at will.

The wetness of the visualization certainly made sense as Jasey was probably drowning in vaginal juices she was made to be thirsty for. It had to be about the sound of five or six orgasms before someone caught their breath and could finally speak coherently.

“Okay, I think that’s made her a sufficient-enough temptress,” Camilla mewled, “But of course this little teaser will only be able to cum once you’ve completed your mission. For the love of our pussies, you’ll certainly pretend to love cock for a little while. Won’t you?“

“Yes Mistress Camilla,” the breathless, clearly mindless Jasey spoke with reverence and need.

Soon after, the door opened and Jasey emerged different than how she entered. Her hair unkempt but still attractive, her walk transformed from zombified to the strut of a stripper, the smile on her face wanton, almost predatory as she walked several rooms down, until she arrived at the intended one. Knocking on it gently, someone peeked through the blinds, and cracked the door open slightly, the inside occupant greeted by laughter and sultry tones. Royce, turned his attention to Camilla and Dazzle, that went in the other direction, to circle around the motel. “Most likely to flank their target,” he guessed.

Eventually, Jasey was let in, and the sounds of kissing roamed the room, before quick sounds of a struggle filled the room. Whatever happened behind closed doors ended fast. The one called Dazzle seemed disappointed. “That was way to quick to be any fun. And weren’t there three of them?”

A sudden knock on the driver-side window of Royce’s rental car brought his attention to a man with a hastened smile, pointing a beretta at him.

“Sorry boy-toy, it looks like you failed your mistresses, or whoever the hell hired you.”

Royce’s eyes widened, doing a triple take from the hotel room where the third man was supposed to be, to where he actually was. Rolling his eyes, he brought a single finger up to his ear, noting that he couldn’t hear whatever the man was saying. Dropping the audio equipment, his free left hand rolled down the window.

“What did you say, sir?”

The man took the opportunity to put the gun at Royce’s temple and repeat his words more threateningly, just as Royce took the opportunity to roll the window back up, trapping the man’s forearm, snatching the gun from his hand. Quickly opening the door, the gunman stumbled back, about to fall and break either his arm or the glass of his window. Royce’s grabbed him at his collar, to keep him held up.

“What did you say, sir?” Royce repeated with the same even tone, letting his unaffected demeanor shock the incapacitated man even more.

Words stuck in his mouth, nothing came out except drops of blood after Royce struck him there with his own gun. Making sure to open the window to let his hand fall free, the man fell unconscious to the ground, sure to wake with a serious headache whenever he did. As was his custom, he took the man’s gun apart, piece by piece, dropping all the parts around him. “If they’re good enough, they’ll put them back together,” his mother, an Air Force engineer, always told him; Royce applied that to weaponry during his time in the service.

“Well done, sir,” a voice greeted him from behind, sounding like Dazzle. For a second time, true hypnotist, or a mentalist, snuck up on him almost without making a single sound.

Trying not to show visible signs of panic, Royce gave her a confused look. “Uh...thanks? I...don’t suppose you’re a cop, or something, coming to arrest this carjacker?”

“Well, some consider me an authority figure of sorts,” Dazzle’s smile confused the resistant martial artist right back, giving off equal parts seduction and deviance. In an instant, the flashes of light that got to Jasey hit Royce in the eyes, seizing his body.

“Don’t move,” Dazzle commanded, and Royce felt the compulsion to obey. His muscles struggled against it, but for the first time, felt the powerlessness others seemed subjected to. Locked up in his own body for that moment, the bridge visualization brought about a sudden flash flood with a wave of water so high that he was made damp from the slash damage.

“That should hold you for a little while, my naughty little snoop,” the mentalist smiled as she took a look inside the car, looking at his equipment obviously pointed in the direction of the motel.

Dazzle admired the equipment for long seconds, before eventually turning back to Royce. “Do you know what mentalists feel like doing with snoops ton—” Dazzle’s breath caught in her throat as Royce was gone from the spot he was fixed in. Dazzle’s head whipped around for where he could be, not spotting anyone in sight until a piece of cloth covered the top part of her head, just above the nose. It was tight and wrapped around the back in a complicated way that would take more than a minute to untangle. Whoever wrapped her head up spun her around a few times to disorientate her, guiding her to the ground where she was allowed to slowly reorientate herself sitting up, while Royce quickly got in his car and sped off.

By the time Dazzle could remove the wrapping successfully, the car was gone from sight down the street, and the mentalist was left fuming at the humiliation of being undone. It took her a few moments to realize that whoever this man was, assuming he was working alone, only succumbed to her potent mentalist powers for less than fifteen seconds, while every other subject exposed to her powers were enslaved for 1 to 3 minutes. No other mentalist reported of someone outdoing her control any sooner than that anywhere.

Using her powers and a frustration-fueled kick to wake the bludgeoned man on the ground, she hit him hard (particularly with the flashes), making him aware, unable to speak, and needing to disrobe. He was moving to remove his clothes even before full awareness returned, near sobbing while rendered voiceless, totally embarrassed, and ready to walk naked back to the motel room. Their mission was complete, but the encounter she just had eclipsed everything else, and Dazzle had a choice to make: keep the details of what happened to herself, including her humiliation and the escape, or tell Camilla everything that happened, and begin a new, more personal mission.

Back at the hotel room, the other captured men were already deep in-trance. One laid flat on the floor, with Jasey sitting on his face, riding him to multiple orgasms as the suggestions tying obedience to pleasure wordlessly deepened Camilla’s control. The other man knelt at Camilla’s feet, writhing in quiet ecstasy as he lost himself in Camilla’s beauty as she interrogated him. Every second he stared at her Venus-like form, his pleasure would gradually increase, and every honest answer he gave spiked his pleasure to the edge of an orgasm that might never come to him ever again, for being stupid enough to vex a High Mistress.

“Who was the mastermind behind this plot of yours,”

“Neil, Mistress. Aghhhh....” he whimpered as surges of pleasure made him tent his pants.

“Was this Neil your boss?”

“Yes, Mistress. Mmmmmmmm...” his moans made the Latina hypnotist smirk.

“And who is your boss now, slave?“

“You are Mistresssssaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!” His tortured ecstasy was quiet as suggested, never rising above the noises Jasey was making only a few feet away, but the silent grin of a pleased Camilla was ironically the loudest thing in the room. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for the enslaved man, and considered giving him one last treat before the High Conclave did whatever they’d do to him. “Too bad for you this lesbian true hypnotist doesn’t really care about male orgasms,” she thought, settling on the consolation of a few pats on the head and vocalizing satisfied praise.

“Good boy, slave.”

Tears nearly formed at his eyes as his weak mind soaked up the highest of pleasures.

“And where is thus Neil now?”

With perfect timing, the door to the room opened, with Dazzle walking in with Neil following, a broken nose and a subdued, placid look on his face.

“I see the third stooge didn’t go quietly,” Camilla said, noting how rough he looked, face soaked from tears. “These two report to Neil there, and I have a feeling these guys weren’t hired by anyone; going up against the Spiral, one would think to not be cheap about hired help. Assuming it’s just these three, this probably wraps things up, right?”

Dazzle stayed silent for a few moments, still contemplating exactly what to tell her partner. From the long, deliberately-slow walk from the parking lot to the room, she’d hoped to have a calculated explanation sorted out by the time she arrived, but her mind was still reeling from the audacious treatment by the man who just escaped her thorough inquiry. His audacity was two-fold, which really clouded her thinking, first in how he wrapped her up like an eagle scout tying an expert knot, and he did it so quick and skillfully, it was the right amount of time to leave an expert spymaster like herself in the dust of his getaway car.

But what kept her silent passed the lingering question from Camilla was the fact that he was able to escape at all. Dazzle had never seen, let alone heard of someone escaping mentalist control in under a minute. In all her training and instruction, such a thing was unheard of; minus the few minutes of a tactical advantage it could give her, it was like she’d never used her powers at all in the end. More than having the tables turned on her, her powers being rendered virtually ineffective concerned her the most.

“Actually, we’ve got a different problem now...” Dazzle began.

A half a mile down the road back in Boise’s direction, Royce waited in his rental car, listening to Dazzle’s honest account of what happened. Years of experience got the mercenary to think as tactically as possible in hectic situations, planting an undetectable audio bug on Dazzle’s clothes as he guided her to the ground, and hiding in the brush of some of the forestry in case Dazzle had it in her to give immediate chase down the road. Listening carefully on his end, he was surprised to listen to how calm and tactical they were as well, speaking about him with a calm focus; usually capitalizing on frantic reactions to actions he took, not hearing any of that left him feeling somewhat defensive.

He half-smiled at the prospect of worthy opponents, even though the smartest play seemed to be never taking any of them head-on. His smile faded as he listened to more details from Dazzle, highlighting more than one classification of super-power. They way they talked marked a clear difference between a True Hypnotist, and a Mentalist, and even Witchcraft in the third category, which made him perk up unthinkingly as they mentioned a woman they knew called Gemma. Normally he would’ve laughed at all the information he was hearing about, but remembering being exposed to Dazzle’s powers recently sobered the hilarity of it all. He was indeed helpless, unable to break free, wrestling with his own body to regain control, until it came back to him like it never left; under his bridge visualizing, the dampness from the water or her mentalist powers, evaporated quicker than science could currently explain. The surprise was mutual apparently, as Dazzle expected him to be overpowered for the rest of however long she decided to keep him there. As both the true hypnotist and mentalist spoke about it soberly too, things were becoming more complicated than he expected. Camilla throughout the explanation was waiting for Dazzle to reveal that the whole thing was a joke, to perpetuate their safety net of believing none were immune; it never came, and left all involved in a weird space.

Staring the engine to his rental car, he headed back to the club where he tailed Camilla from. The only thing that kept him smiling was the fact that his current rental was stolen from an asshole at the club that assumed a dark-skinned guy in a black buttoned-up shirt and slacks in the parking lot was automatically valet. If Dazzle or anyone else got a look at his license plate, hopefully they’d take out their false lead on the asshole who may or may not notice his car was borrowed. The rest of his thoughts were spent weighing his options. Unfortunately, there was now a physical description to attach to the anomaly that he was. Banking on the embarrassment Dazzle felt to keep her silence was a long shot, but if this network of super-powered women were as vast and as connected as he was getting closer to concluding, he wondered where a good place would be to hide, in the city, in the Midwest, or anywhere. Oddly enough, the thing that made him a target could also serve as a shield in the event of another encounter.

The only thing he could really conclude throughout the drive back is that he needed more intel, and there was no better place to get it than in the city most dangerous for him to be in. One way or another, he’d have to be better about keeping a low profile.

It was a full day after the motel surveillance, where Royce spent the day in relative seclusion. Other than practicing the kata forms of his Karate and keeping up his exercise regimen, he started compiling all the information he could about true hypnotism. Gradually putting together a report of his own research, so far it included capabilities, types, names, ranks, and locations. Similar to old intel-gathering missions of his service days, he appreciated studying of a tightly-arranged organization. But unlike studying some para-military force or up-and-coming form of organized crime, he appreciated how unique true hypnotism was, seeking power not through guns or strongholds, but mere battles of wills that their talents meant they were ensured victory. From what was seen thus far, all the suited grunts and generals were supplanted with women dressed like socialites, armed with literally-disarming charms. And unlike previous missions, his sole purpose was to gather intel for the sake of staying out of this community’s way, to not cross their thresholds as easily as they imposed their influence on others. The first impression had from the May sisters left him thinking positively of true hypnotists overall, and despite possible misunderstandings thus far, they’ve remained positive.

“Maybe a little too positive,” he told himself, looking back to the hotel bed.

After all the excitement from the previous night, with some time to reflect after going over the new information, Royce gave himself some time to meditate and clear his head, to not let a lot of what happened get to him too much. Unfortunately his vivid visualizing could be a double-edged sword, and leave him pondering about things too deeply. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, his meditative state took him to the bridge, making him curious about true hypnotism and the like. As his muscles began to relax and his mind fell into the clear-headed space, he realized at some point that all the subs he’d observed felt a deeper sense of what he was feeling, with the distinct exception of the loss of control. Deep into the meditation, looking down at the energies flowing beneath, nostalgic memories came back to him about what a younger Royce Schaefer would’ve thought about bewitching women like true hypnotists.

Back in his formative years, the younger man had a secret fetish for witchy women; from books, movies, TV, any source he could find them, any woman that could pass for a powerful or wicked witch, showing off their powers magnetically or wantonly, quickly and deeply kept him riveted. He could never explain the appeal, or why the combination of women and magic set him off like it did; it was too pleasing just to indulge in it while it did still appeal. He thought he’d outgrown it, until deep in meditation, young Royce queried on the bridge whether true hypnotists qualified as ‘witchy’ to him; image after remembered image of women creating intense focus for someone they towered over no matter their height, placing them under an unbreakable spell of obedience, his body easily confirmed that they certainly qualified.

Royce cut his meditation short, feeling light perspiration and embarrassment come over him, combating it with long sets of push-ups and sit-ups and a lukewarm shower before bed. Unfortunately, nostalgic thoughts he hadn’t recalled in almost decades weren’t done with him yet, as he dreamed of the bridge deep into the night, standing directly above the waters. Darkness concealed a figure approaching him, keeping her shadowy figure hidden to his eyes; but without knowing who she was, he knew what she was—an amalgamation of all the past witchy women he fantasized about, coming to due to him what other true hypnotists failed to do. All that was visible was the powerful stride in her walk, highlighted by the sound of expensive heels, sounding off with each step. They were as glamorous as her dress, carrying a luster that shined even in when lit by stars.

By the time she closed the distance, all he could really see was a gorgeous face, a seductive smile, and eyes that shimmered, almost glowed like a full moon. Her lips moved to say something, but he felt the words rather than heard them. At some point after she said whatever, he realized he was falling, the bridge fading from view behind her. But instead of that dreamed panic of falling without a parachute, he floated down, still captivated by the witch as she spoke her incantations, holding him all the way down to the waters. By the time he was submerged and under, he knew he was under her complete control, bound and chained to whatever magic she would choose to tease and arouse him with.

For his surrender, she kissed him deeply, and that’s the moment he woke up, harder than he’d been in a long time, evidence of his excitement spread all over the sheets he slept in.

Royce quickly got up to clean the bed as best he could, slapping himself a few times for the mess he made, but after had a moment of honesty with himself.

“Yeah, you’re intrigued by this. And yeah, it reminds you of all those itches that needed scratching way back when. Best to get that out of your system, and shore up what you need to for women who probably have yet to show you what ‘wicked’ really looks like.”

His faculties in agreement with the statement, he fell into a thankfully-dreamless sleep after that, the aroused curiosity subsided.

More productive curiosity the next morning kept him going deeper into the research, hoping to discover more their whereabouts, and his withstanding them. Amongst his research, he found something rather surprising—an organization designated to oppose true hypnotism, called the Anti-Hypnotist Alliance. They hid themselves well enough with surface-level public fronts, but those with intelligence-gathering backgrounds knew how to easily read between their lines.

He had an interview arranged later that day with a representative of the AHA, probably disguised as working for another organization. But in the meantime, the fighting tournament that tempted him to come to Boise in the first place was holding preliminaries. As interested as he was to attend, it made more sense at this point to appear as a bystander in the crowd. Dressing in light-grey sweats plus a hoodie with the same color, he headed out from another inconspicuous motel on the Boise outskirts closer to the downtown area, to an MMA training center. It was a very bland-looking building, and as the instructions said, it was easy to find given the landmark of a club called Aphrodite’s further down the block.

Parking down the street from the building, he could tell from a distance that it was a crowded affair. Royce shook his head as he mentally checked off on more thing he never thought a town like Boise could draw a crowd for. The interior was spacier than expected, with a large crowd of spectators looking out at a few open circles with fighters sparring against one another. The surprises continued as he found several of the fighters sparring very recognizable. Most were not amateur-level at all; several were as world-renowned as he was, masters of several different styles, including kung-fu, wrestling, kick-boxing, tae kwon do, boxing, jeet kun do, Brazilian jujitsu, Krav Maga and others. Almost all of them had past, sizable tourney wins under their belts from multiple corners of the world. All were close to his level, though his old masters would argue he was crazy enough to take them on and win.

The prospect of fighting such prominent masters made it so much harder to resist signing up and pitting against one of them; his feet and fists tingled, almost angry that he was seen two nights before, ruining his chance at a exhilarating bout. But the mission-focused Royce won out, keeping more distance than he would’ve liked in case one of the more popular fighters recognized him. He moved towards one of the circles containing fighters he didn’t know. Or so he thought.

An MMA fighter from Oklahoma City, Bruiser Kline, one of the ones favored to be in the top four, or even win in the tournament, was warming up off to the sides. The six-foot-four muscular adonis was soaking up the praise of the crowd and his rabid fanbase; Bruiser’s status of local legend was nice, but it felt like a consolation prize as he was quickly shooting up in notoriety in the MMA world, and hoped to be even bigger. Unfortunately for him though, losing to a Karate master in his last tourney definitely put a crimp in that. Royce figured that’s why he recognized him so easily from the crowd.

“Hey asshole!” He called Royce out “Come to pay up on that rematch you owe me?”

“Shit,” the darker fighter muttered under his breath. It was too late for him to duck out of the way or feign ignorance, as he could feel the attention of a lively crowd circling him and Bruiser now. Near the edge of the circle and what he guessed was a duffel bag containing Bruiser’s belongings was a beautiful woman dressed business-casual, wearing slacks, a white blouse, black high-heeled shoes, and the only visible jewelry on her looked to be simple diamond earrings. She looked like a fashion model, with sandy brown hair falling down into long locks framing her thin, gorgeous face and deep brown eyes. Looks were exchanged between her and Royce, but a lot more silent communication rang between Bruiser and this woman, down to his look softening against her slightly-stern one. Everything about her and their non-verbal exchange moved past the assumption of spectator or groupie and directly onto “another true hypnotist” as the conclusion. His muscles tensed slightly, ready for a fight or flight situation, but keeping the percolating mood as low as possible.

“Not registered here, just watching.”

“What? Can’t hack it here? Pussy!”

Much as he loathed the fighter he was happy to beat the last time they faced one another, he took a deep breath and responded loudly enough for the crowd around him in an even tone. “Yeah, got lucky last time. Doubt I’d stand a chance again.”

Both fighters knew he was downplaying things, and that there was some raw, exceptional talent behind the previous victor, and that made Bruiser all the angrier to want a second shot at him to shot he was actually the better fighter. The fire in the bigger man burned hotter as his desired opponent dared to disregard his goading and not take the challenge. Turning his head, Royce was ready to move away bearing nothing more than an internal smile, knowing he’d gotten into Bruiser’s head without throwing a punch, but intentions rapidly changed as Royce felt himself forcefully shoved hard into the open circle and directly into Bruiser. Eyes flaring and more than eager to physically respond to the perceived attack, Bruiser quickly grabbed the material around Royce’s shoulders leaning back to headbutt the smaller man.

Still processing how he ended up so close to Bruiser, but still reactively sharp, Royce leaned back to let his clavicle take the brunt of the head-on attack, launching his arm underneath to uppercut Bruiser leaning back from the recoil. It was a hard enough hit to make him stagger, but not let go; boiling-over rage lifted Royce off the ground, growing ferally until Royce answered with a faster headbutt, breaking his nose. Still off the ground, he grabbed Bruiser’s shoulders to slam a knee into his chest. Once let go, Royce continued with a strike to the joint of his left shoulder, then a kick to the side of his right knee hard enough to bring him down to that knee. Acting on his own anger, Royce flipped the almost-kneeling man to the floor mat using his downward momentum. Grabbing the floored MMA fighter by his hair, Royce gave him one more solid punch to the face to knock him unconscious. Adrenaline and focus slowly leaving him once the initial threat was gone, he noticed all the excited screams surrounding him, and began moving out of the crowd as quick as he could before he drew any more attention from over-stimulated spectators or under-challenged fighters.

As logic slowly came back to him, he noted something was different about Bruiser in that fight. In their last fight, he was arrogant and his initial tactic was obviously meant to toy with him, and draw out his embarassment. The tactic certainly changed with the fighter who beat him soundly, holding nothing back. But there was an edge to him that made him more formidable, maybe something in his focus, or in his anger; whatever it was, had he had it back in Oklahoma City, he could’ve done even better, or at least made Royce work harder for his win.

He got far enough from the immediate crowd that witnessed the takedown, but not before running into someone that grasped his side. A hand sporting shiny black polished nails on his shoulder turned him in her direction as she leaned in to speak close to him, maintaining a firm handshake and intense eye contact.

“Feel my touch, look into my eyes, relax...and sleep!” the true hypnotist connected with Bruiser commanded quietly, urging him to look deeply into her brown eyes. Her intent look made him believe she was trying to pour true hypnotism deep into him, which might as well have been water under the bridge again. Wordlessly disengaging from the woman’s grip, he disappeared as much as he could through the crowd. He made it all the way to the entrance, and made it outside before he was stopped again.

“A moment of your time sir, please.”

Royce turned to find short, late-40s man with a dirty blonde ponytail rushing to greet him, looking out of breath from trying to catch up.

“I’m Simon,” he wheezed. “The organizer. You put...” the wheezing continued, obviously not in any shape to do the running he did to catch up. The un-athletic sight put Royce more at ease than he was expecting.

“You put on quite a good show there.”

“Wasn’t my intention. I’m not registered, and Bruiser will still put on a good show when he comes to,” Royce planned those to be his parting words, but Simon moved to his side, futilely trying to keep up with the fast-walking Royce. He stopped to take pity on Simon who almost looked ready to collapse on the outside pavement.

“As far as putting on a show, I’d rather give the chance to the man who beat that former contestant. Twice.”

Simon brought out his phone, showing the fight he put on back in Oklahoma City, embarrassing Bruiser the first time spectacularly.

“If I was a betting man in that tourney, I think I would’ve been foolish enough to bet against you in that fight. And how bruised my ego and wallet would’ve been if I did, but crowds love a good upset, no matter what they wager. And despite you trying to walk away from this as quickly as possible, we’d love it if you kept that streak going, so consider yourself invited to be part of the next level. The bracket already has your name on it, right now with the words ‘mystery man.’”

Royce slightly scoffed at how quickly his exploits got used against him while keeping a low profile. “Damn social media,” he chided, listening to Simon’s words carefully.

“If you want to change it to something more accurate, the next official fight will be tomorrow, at this address,” Simon handed him a business card, the details of the fight written on the back hastily, while the front told him that he was a promoter under the Aphrodite club down the street.

“Who was the woman next to Bruiser?” Royce asked, nonchalantly, wondering what lie he might be told.

“I’d guess that was either his admirer, or his sponsor for the tournament.”

“Fighters in this one require sponsors? I don’t think I qualify then.”

“I spoke to one of the tournament sponsors; you’re already covered in sponsorship too. They seem excited to see what else you can do.“

The way Simon said it made him think that he was the “secret” sponsor. Something about this seem hastily put together, like most of the money went into getting the world-class talent present, leaving little for venue or other attractive amenities. A wild card like Royce would probably make things a lot more profitable for Simon.

Checking his watch, Royce realized how easily he’d lost track of time, simply acknowledging receiving the card before running off to his car to get to the more important appointment that day.

Less than an hour later, a tall man in a tweed jacket over a white buttoned-up shirt, jeans, and black-rimmed glasses walked into the Boise Four Seasons hotel lobby, looking a little out of sorts, as if he wasn’t at all used to fancy surroundings and people. He blinked several times, looking around with curiosity to see if the person he was scheduled to meet would be present. Walking towards the main floor’s bar area that looked like it’d just begin to open for the evening, Lawrence Miller, an independent investigative reporter, spotted a woman at the bar who kindly waived to him; he smiled and headed to the bar with a sort of awkward confidence. Royce’s handy alter ego, Lawrence often got around publicly as traveling investigator, the kind happy to do the work while others at any paper he could be affiliated with take all the glory, truly in it for the love of the work, always claiming to happily be a “team player.”

“Dr.....Dr. Rupert?” Lawrence extended his hand cordially to shake the woman’s outstretched one; she shook it back with her own gentle vigor and pleasant smile.

“Please, call me Sarah.”

Sarah was a beautiful woman in a light-grey pantsuit. Tall and slender, she wore her long straight auburn hair down, and flashed her engaging blue eyes at his brown ones, both of theirs behind glasses. She wore stylish thick-rimmed glasses and simple diamond stud earrings. Her fingernails were painted a dark maroon, and she wore a simple silver ring on her right thumb. Her shoes were expensive black pumps with three-inch heels.

“S-Sarah, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to meet me; I imagine they keep a young, prominent executive like yourself quite busy.”

Sarah had fairly-recently been established as a high-ranking exec for a company connected with the Boise chapter of the World Youth Outreach Mission. Royce knew the WYOM was a front for the AHA, but even his extensive research wouldn’t have uncovered Sarah’s backstory. Before her current position, she was a hypnotist working with the AHA under the witch Ruth MacLeod, who’d captured several true hypnotists trying to sneak onto her compound, including the famed Bella Beguile, Mistress Alexandria, and others. Things were going smoothly in the interrogation/torture, friends of the captured hypnotists rescued their friends and brought Ruth’s operation to shambles. Several AHA operatives were captured and made it to the spiral for interrogation and severe mind-wiping, if the High Mistresses were generous. During her initial tenure as a Spiral slave, Sarah’s mind had been cracked and her body punished. But the few AHA members that were forgotten or escaped capture from the compound rescued their friends, including Charles St. Cloud, a former-high member of the AHA. While enroute to a high mistress’s vacation home for a tortuous getaway for Sarah, Charles had intercepted and gotten Sarah out of harm’s way. It took a lot of help for Sarah to regain her sense of self, including the use of the drug Hypnolol to break implanted suggestions. It took weeks, but Dr. Sarah Rupert was resurrected as a fully-committed member of the AHA.

All of Ruth’s lieutenants escaped, but Ruth herself wasn’t so lucky. The heads of the AHA were so upset that the returning agents found themselves demoted and demoralized, though silently still more eager than ever to strike back at the true hypnotists. Installed as an exec in an AHA-controlled company, Sarah agreed to meet this reporter, curious about his own interests. She’d already ensured the bartender’s cooperation beforehand, and there were a few hours before happy hour would start, so she figured she’d have enough time to quietly conduct her own interview.

“It’s fulfilling work, but it’s nice to speak with someone interested in our work with organizations like the World Youth Outreach Mission.”

“Quite so, Sarah” Lawrence replied. “It sounds like a worthy endeavor, help to shape and guide young, impressionable minds. But I must admit not a lot is known about how things are done. Some reporters might say it’s easier to get the secret formula for Coca-Cola than it is to explore the secret workings of a non-profit.”

“You’d be surprised, Mr. Miller. As you might be surprised that in accordance with our policies, I would ask that you sign this NDA.”

From the leather briefcase lying next to her stool, she produced a few papers and a gold pen from her lapel.

“An NDA...for an interview?” Lawrence’s eye-brow raised quizzically.

“Unfortunately, standard procedure even execs must follow. Trade secrets seem to be a thing, even in non-profits,” Sarah looked through the papers, drawing X’s on where she wanted the reporter to sign, twirling the pen after every X.

“Because the practice of shaping minds can be quite vital, for minds that must be guided...and explored.” Sarah’s voice stayed pleasant throughout her explanation, with hints of a lower tone skirting on the seductive side, while the speed of her twirling pen somehow matched the cadence of her induction.

“Being a youth myself, I remember fairly well how lucky I was to be guided...guided to let go of distracting things as it was so important for me to focus.” As if habitually, the disguised hypnotist continued to twirl the pen, the afternoon sun and low overhead lighting still flashing gentle, compelling light with every twirl. “Focus...such an important tool for a mind, such a vital suggestion that I needed to follow...to follow...to focus....to get what I really wanted....focus...so important...to follow...“

The pattern Sarah started caught Lawrence off-guard, falling into the motion of the pen, letting the light flash in-time with her words. Knowingly-watching the induction unfold right before his eyes was mostly the result of being surprised that there was a true hypnotist working with an organization named the Anti-Hypnotist Alliance; curiosity of Sarah’s motives lead him to let her continue unimpeded, just to see where she might take things. And for the first time, he decided to see if he could fake it.

“That’s right, Lawrence, just follow the pen...follow it with your eyes, and let yourself relax....deeply relax....as you focus deeply....relax as you start to feel sleepy....drowsy....ready to fall into total relaxation....ready to fall into peaceful...obedient...sleep!” Sarah’s free hand snapped her fingers, and Lawrence let his eyes flutter a little convincingly before they shut and he let his body lean forward slightly, head nodded forward like he’d seen past slaves do.

“Wonderful, Lawrence, that’s such a good obedient boy. Let yourself go deeper, and be more obedient and honest with every word I speak. Because I don’t believe you were being completely honest with me, but you certainly want to be now, don’t you?”

“Yes....” he whispered.

“Yes Mistress Sarah,” she corrected him.

“Yes Mistress...Sarah,” it felt weird saying, but he played along.

“Very good. And now we’ll see if someone from the Spiral or some other damned true hypnotism group sent you. Let’s start with your real name, why don’t we? What is your real name?”

“That depends...” the sleepy quality in his voice vanished as he raised his head and looked at the doctor sternly, shocking another hypnotist, one who was sure her interrogation was going swimmingly.

“Is your name really Sarah Rupert?“

Sitting stark still, her pen dropped from her hand, wondering why her power left him unaffected. He just stared at her, then the pen that dropped. Calmly, he bent to pick it up, then placed it near her on the bar, silently waiting for a response from her.

“How are you not....?”

“Couldn’t tell you. But my question is still pending doctor, if you really are one.”

A sizable part of Sarah felt depleted, but as the circumstances sank in further, excitement grew at the prospect of someone seemingly immune to true hypnosis. Such a thing was unheard of, but better yet, weaponizable if she could get him on the side of the AHA.

“My name is Doctor Sarah Rupert.”

“Bold using your real name.”

“As bold as it is to venture into the world of true hypnotism, investigative or otherwise. Whatever got you to this point, you’re behind the curtain now. Is the True Hypnotism community aware of your existence?”

Royce’s non-answer was answer enough for Sarah.

“Then I would wholeheartedly advise that you consider joining our organization.”

“Joining...what? The Anti-Hypnotist Alliance?”

“You’ve heard of us.”

“I wonder why such a group was formed.”

“If you’ve seen enough of the work of true hypnotists, you know how dangerous they can be, taking without asking, robbing people of their own minds.” The passion creeping up in Sarah’s voice nearly made Royce smirk.

“And what does it say when this AHA hires a dangerous true hypnotist to do exactly what you think you’re fighting?”

“It says how dangerous they are when we’re forced to resort to such measures to defend ourselves, and others. I can explain everything, but for security reasons, I’d prefer if we talked after a formal agreement.“

Having sized her up since the moment he arrived for the meeting, Royce stayed open-minded to Sarah’s goals as well as the AHA’s. He looked around the room, seeming pensive about her offer, scanning the room for other people who could be listening in. A few extra lingering seconds at the bartender convinced him that Sarah got to him before Lawrence had ever arrived, look totally inconspicuous, maybe unconsciously ready to assist her if the need arose. Research of the AHA was spotty at best from what he could access, with unconfirmed reports of violence, abductions, and other felonious claims. Such could’ve been propaganda from true hypnotists they were fighting, staged to make the passionate AHA look bad. But knowing that they were essentially using the same tools to fight that true hypnotists were, lent some credence to who could really be the dangerous ones.

“Sorry, I’m not looking to join anything at this point. Just for information, if you’re willing to give it.”

Sarah didn’t say anything at first, sizing him up with her own considerate gaze. He wondered what was to come next in response to his counter-offer, whether it was threats, a second-attempt at controlling, him, or even adjusting her sales pitch.

“You might reconsider that position, ‘Lawrence.’ It’s quite the hostile environment out there for those looking to keep their free will. Despite the innocent demeanor and front you put up, it doesn’t hide the probably mercenary qualities about you completely. There are people who can figure out who you are, and can do some pretty devastating things to you if they get a hold of you.”

“Including things you were going to do?” He raised an eyebrow, highlight her hypocrisy again.

“Full disclosure, if your Lawrence persona was genuine and not under anyone else’s influence, you would’ve been questioned for a few minutes, and made to forget. If you had been under someone else’s control, I would’ve been obligated to free you from that control. Hypnotists who join the AHA do so in the belief that true hypnotists as they are go too far, and need to be put in-check?”

“And you’re their deterrence, or oversight?”

“They have their own means of oversight, adjudicators, high-mistresses, and other authorities above authorities; dominants keeping other dominants in-check.”

“And you don’t call that oversight?”

“I call it lying to themselves, keeping themselves under the delusion that there is order when really there’s nothing but chaos roaming around their ever-growing circles. The idea that they would ever police themselves is a joke; someone has to do something.”

“Like fill the void if a vacancy were ever to open up in a power vacuum,” Royce told himself, unconvinced of their altruism, even if they could be right about who they were opposing.

“And you might think your unique position puts you above them, but if they know you can resist them, that makes you a threat they can’t afford to ignore, and they will use every tool they can to bring you to heel. And if they can’t, or you won’t let them, something worse.”

“...and the AHA is the only safe haven available to me?“

“Putting it very bluntly, yes,” Sarah told him with a stern look. Inwardly, she smiled at his skepticism, knowing of all the people he’d probably come into contact with, she was hopefully the most plain-speaking and trustworthy. And even if not, she trusted other True Hypnotists to be proof enough for him to seek them out later.

“The offer to join us is open, and I do believe, inevitable.” Sarah grabbed her bag, readying to depart. Glancing at the bartender nearby that left them alone as she wanted, she clicked the end of her pen a few times, the sound registering on him as he shook his head like he’d forgotten something, and went about with his work like nothing happened. Attention fixed on the bartender, Royce didn’t notice Dr. Rupert dropping something softly into his clumsily-open bag.

“Any other hypnotist wouldn’t have given him himself back; think about that,” Sarah said cheekily, leaving her card on the table for him.

Left to consider everything she said and everything else read between the lines, the fake-journalist sat at the bar, considering everything and his next move. Being between two sides at war with each other was one of the worst spots to be in, and rather than being a spectator or on the sidelines, so far he was finding himself right in the middle of it; either he was getting worse at his spycraft, or he just underestimated the forces he was dealing with.

“This is what happens when a martial artist tries to play spymaster,” he chastised himself laughingly, knowing he was purely built for one, no matter how much training sharpened the other.

Grabbing his own belongings and eyeing his surroundings closely upon exiting the bar and hotel, Royce had several decisions to make for his next move, and hoped more training would help him clear his head. And if he was lucky, meditation and dreams later that day wouldn’t compromise his feelings on this world any further.

Sarah walked out of the bar and towards the reception area. Instead of walking to the main entrance, she casually walked towards the elevators, looking for Royce or anyone else who could be tailing her while taking an elevator up to a room on the second floor. Waiting for her in the room she used her keycard on, was her partner Charles St. Cloud.

“So, was he an operative or stooge for one of those high mistress bitches?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Sarah shook her head, still slightly mystified.

“Then he was just a nosy reporter?”

“I seriously doubt that too. But beyond a doubt, he’s a lot more than that.“

The blue-eyed man with short blonde hair shook his own head. “What do you mean?”

“He resisted my hypnosis.”

“...what? How?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t using any aids or deflection that I’m aware of. I took him through the same effective induction I used on the hotel staff in the lobby, and I thought it was working, until he stopped faking being under altogether. I’ve never seen that before.”

“Agents like me have been given thorough resistance training. Maybe he has too.”

“Trust me Charles, this is different. You can resist an induction if presented with one, but it takes will power you have to willingly use to do so; this man though...I felt my power moving to him, but it either passed through him or rolled off him, or...I don’t know. All I do know is this kind of resistance is off the charts,” Sarah sat on the room’s couch, running her hand through her head in frustration. “I doubt anyone has ever seen resistance like this before.”

Charles thought to himself from the desk seat, remembering something. “That might not be completely true.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

Rather than answer, Charles called a number from his phone. “St. Cloud speaking. Yes, get me a number of a 10-3 director. Yes, ASAP.”

“What’s 10-3?” Sarah asked in ever-deeper confusion.

“Knowledge divided,” Charles wagged his finger at his colleague, reminding her of the AHA operative policy of need-to-know basis, especially with dealing with True Hypnotists. Sarah hated the reminder of what she might’ve given up while a captive of theirs, but unquestionably understood the need.

“You gave this guy information on how to reach us?”

“Yes, and an aid to help if we want to reach him.”

“I suspect we’ll be using that soon,” Charles said, smiling as a rare opportunity presented itself.

“Why?”

“All I can tell you right now, is that we might be involved with a special branch of the AHA doing important work.”

“...the important work being?”

“All I know is a title they give these rarities—’obstructed.’“