The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’ve always had a weakness for neat gadgets. I bought my first laser pointer when they cost $100 each and filled your hand. My watch has both analog and digital display modes. My cell phone has video games built in. When I sit at home and relax in front of the TV, I flip through the channels with a universal remote shaped like a hand phaser from Star Trek: The Next Generation. So naturally when the new generation of portable MP3 players came out, I got myself one.

It’s a really cool little toy. Compact, lightweight, easy to clip onto the waistband. Immune to the vibration, bumping and jarring that are holy hell on a Discman, and way lighter than my old Walkman. The only problem, of course, is that you have to download the music into it first.

Almost all of my music collection is on CD’s. That’s not a major obstacle, there are plenty of programs on the net that can rip a song off a CD and convert it to MP3 format. It’s just a matter of taking the time to do it.

I had already converted about eight albums when I got a piece of junk email inviting me to join something called e-mp3club.com. They didn’t ask for a credit card number right away, so I went to their site to check it out.

As it turned out, e-mp3club.com was a new variation on the Napster phenomenon—a place for members to exchange files and email, with public message boards for musical discussions and links to online music stores providing the sponsorship money that maintained the site. I looked at the pile of CD’s waiting to be converted and decided that if I could download my favorite songs I’d save time.

The client software turned out to be a simple install. Once I accepted the lengthy license agreement, in which I promised not to violate any copyright laws, the software put a Login icon on my desktop and created two new folders on my hard drive called “Downloads” and “Shares”. According to the help file the Downloads folder was where MP3’s I downloaded from other users would go and the Shares folder was where I could put MP3’s I was willing to allow others to download from me. The club’s servers would scan that directory every time I logged in and keep a master directory of available songs that all members could use to request music. That was it—simple, manageable, and very friendly. I was impressed.

That first night I spent about 3 hours logged into the club’s website. I went through my stack of favorite CD’s and searched the index for the songs I liked most. It was amazing how many of them I found in the club’s index for downloading.

When I left the house in the morning for my daily run, I had my new toy on my waistband loaded with some of my favorite running music. I started with some Bob Seger, moved quickly into a long block of Aerosmith to get my blood pumping, and then slid into Dire Straits for the last leg of the circuit. By the time “Walk of Life” gave way to “Heavy Fuel” I was home again, cooling down nicely, just needing a short breather before I hit the shower.

The song ended. I was about to take off the headphones when a female voice filled my ears. “Close your eyes and relax,” the voice said. It was a striking voice: soft, gentle, youthful, and very feminine. It stopped me in my tracks.

“Relax,” it continued, “and take a nice, long, slow, deep breath. Breathe in all the way, feel your chest filling with air, and hold it. Hold it, hold it, hold it ... and now let it go, feeling the tensions rush out of your body and your mind as the air rushes out of your lungs. Let all of your muscles go limp and relax as you exhale. And now, take another long, slow, deep breath, and as you do, clench all of your muscles as tightly as you can. Every muscle tight and tense as your lungs fill with fresh air. Hold it, hold it, hold it ... and now let it go, along with all of the tensions, so your entire body falls into deep, restful relaxation.”

The voice intrigued me. It didn’t command—there was no force of authority behind it, only gentleness—yet I found myself wanting to cooperate. When the voice told me to take a third long, slow, deep breath, I found myself doing it. I took in air until my chest felt ready to burst, clenching all of my muscles, holding it until she said to let it go, then blowing it all out and relaxing as I exhaled. It felt so incredibly good that I completely forgot to wonder what in hell I was listening to and flopped back onto the couch to listen some more.

“Very good,” the voice continued. “You have begun to relax. Clear your mind now of all unnecessary thoughts, and turn your attention to your feet. Notice how warm they feel, how relaxed, how the muscles in them loosen, becoming smooth and soft. Feel it happening right now. And as you feel it happening, soon you notice that the same warm, relaxing feeling begins to spread upwards through your feet to your ankles, making them soft and loose and relaxed as well.

“As you continue to breathe easily, deeply and slowly, the warm and relaxing feeling in your feet and ankles continues to spread upward into your calves. Your calves relax and rest, becoming smooth and soft. Now the feeling spreads to your knees, and to your things. All the muscles in your knees and thighs become warm and tired, letting go, relaxing, letting your legs rest easily and completely...”

I knew what was happening now; the voice was taking me through a standard progressive relaxation, a very common and effective method for inducing hypnosis. I’d been down that road before, and it was very pleasant to lie back and let this unseen person take me there again. Following her prompts, I let the relaxation spread through my hips and butt, into my upper body, through my shoulders and arms. By the time she got to my face and head I was adrift in my own mind, the familiar buzz of hypnosis resonating through my head.

What followed was also something I recognized, the well-known staircase deepener. Hand in hand with my unseen guide, I walked down a grand stone staircase into the basement of my imagination. At the bottom I found a nice, comfortable mattress and let myself go completely, resting easily in its softness.

“Now you have achieved a very deep, satisfying level of hypnosis,” the voice said. “You know that in this state you are safe and comfortable, able to imagine anything you desire. Your daily stresses and worries do not exist here; you can use this very special place as a sanctuary, a place to relax and take care of yourself for a short while, gathering the strength you will need to return to the conscious world with renewed energy and confidence in yourself. You can return to this place easily any time you wish, simply by closing your eyes and imagining my voice speaking to you again as I am now, telling you to relax and let go. Every time you practice going into hypnosis you will find it easier to achieve, and you will find yourself reaching deeper and more satisfying levels of trance. If something happens that requires your attention while you are in hypnosis, you will always be able to wake up and deal with it immediately.

“And now, it is time to return to your normal waking state. As I count to three, you will feel yourself slowly becoming more aware of your surroundings, waking up gradually. One, feeling the energy returning to your limbs; two, awareness increasing, your eyes opening; three, wide awake, feeling refreshed and at peace.”

My eyes blinked open on cue. Every sense seemed a little sharper for me, as it always had before when I came out of trance. It had been quite a while—at least five years, by my reckoning, but the feeling was every bit as delicious as I remembered.

Then I looked at the clock: 6:40. I’d been tuned out on the couch for about 15 minutes, now I needed to hustle to get ready for work. I switched off the MP3 player and dropped it onto the bed, hit the shower, and focused my full attention on getting my butt onto the highway.

Throughout the work day, my thoughts kept returning to the unknown voice. Who was she, and how had her recording ended up in my player? I knew I’d be investigating both when I got home.

The answer to the second part turned out to be disappointingly simple: a case of operator error. I’d been searching for the Dire Straits song “Industrial Disease” and found a file named induct_d.mp3 in the index. In my mass-production mode of the night before I’d misread the name and downloaded it, thinking it was my song.

I looked up the file in the club index. The member it came from was listed as “sjs”; I searched on the user name and found about a dozen MP3 files available from that account. She wasn’t online, so I queued a request to download the others and left the computer logged in. (DSL service is great for things like that; I can leave the machine online as long as I want without tying up the phone line.) Meanwhile I grabbed my MP3 player, stretched out on the bed, and listened to the track again. Once again I found myself drifting slowly, gently down into a deeply satisfying hypnotic trance.

When the track was over I stayed put, closing my eyes, dropping back down a little bit. For the first time in months I thought about Dr. Isobel Burns, the hypnotist who had helped me put an end to a smoking habit that had lasted half my life. She was near 40 at the time, I’d guessed; a handsome woman with a rich, deep voice that worked magic on me from the first words I heard her speak. Everything stayed totally professional, mind you—throughout our relationship she was Dr. Burns and I was Mr. Tate. She took me into trance and helped me break the hold that tobacco had over my mind and body, then shook my hand and wished me a good life.

Still, for months afterwards I fantasized about her. In my dreams she was Isobel; she wore slit skirts and low-cut blouses and called me Nick as she clouded my mind and seduced my body. I developed a yen for anything relating to hypnosis and sex. I collected books on hypnosis, read hypnoerotic stories off the Net, downloaded pictures of hypnotized women, and sampled the web pages of online dommes. Never quite got up the nerve to contact one, though. I also tried a couple of hypnosis tapes from the Self Help section of the book store, but somehow the generic presentation never worked very well for me.

Eventually the newness of it all wore off. I started indulging my new fascination less often as other parts of my life demanded attention. I still have the occasional vivid dream about Isobel, but for the most part I kept that part of me under wraps.

Until the sjs recording, anyway. Her voice reminded me of how very seductive hypnosis could be. I found myself wondering what she looked like, how old she was, where she lived.

Why not find out? I went back to the computer and looked up “sjs” in the member directory: there was no profile in the directory (no surprise there—I hadn’t done one either), but it did list an email address. I fired up the mail program.

Dear sjs,

I downloaded your induct_d.mp3 file by mistake yesterday and listened to it. I was very pleasantly surprised—you have a lovely voice and your induction technique left me wonderfully relaxed and stress-free. Are you a professional hypnotist? Have you done any other MP3’s like the one I have? If so, I’d very much like to hear them; this experience has rekindled a strong fascination I’ve had with hypnosis.

Nick Tate

Baltimore, MD

I wanted to ask a lot more, but thought my chances of getting any reply at all were nil if I came off sounding like a potential stalker. The reply came in late that night.

Nick,

Hi! It’s always good to meet a fellow hypnophile. No, I don’t have any other hypnosis MP3’s, that one was an experiment. I’d forgotten it was still in my shares directory.

Thanks for the compliment, but I’m more often the subject than the hypnotist; my Mistress is a professional and has taught me what little I know.

Enjoy the MP3.

Sara Jane Smith

At the time I figured that was the end of it. I cancelled the download request, filed Sara Jane under ‘interesting people I’ll never get to know’ and went back to my regularly scheduled life. I kept the MP3 and played it most days when I got home from work; it was a great way to decompress. And occasionally I’d catch myself daydreaming about a pretty young lady with a soft, sweet voice. Sometimes she was on her knees, staring vacantly ahead as a dark, shadowy figure loomed over her; other times she was talking to me, taking me into hypnosis and seducing my mind.

About two weeks later, I got a surprise email.

Dear Nick,

Remember me? I showed your email to my Mistress, and with her guidance and blessing I recorded the attached MP3 for you. I hope you’ll enjoy it; it’s much better than the old one you have.

Sara

The attachment was called nick.mp3. I downloaded it into my portable player, took it into the living room and plopped down in my easy chair to listen.

“Hello, Nick,” the track began, Sara’s voice as soft and tender as before. “This session is for you and you only. Get comfortable; either sit down in a comfortable chair that supports your whole body, or better yet lie down so you can really let go. You may want to loosen your belt, if you wear one, and take off your shoes. I’ll wait a few seconds while you get settled.” I was pretty well settled as I was, so I just waited for Sara Jane to continue.

As in the first track, she started me off with several long, deep, slow breaths, having me hold each one for a short time and then let it out quickly and completely. She segued easily into the progressive relaxation. This time she went through it more slowly, spending more time encouraging me to be aware of how each body part relaxed completely. She also had me tense each body part as much as I could before relaxing it. By the time she got to my head I was already adrift, floating freely on the gentle waves of her voice, as deep as I’d ever gone for her.

She finished the relaxation and went into a deepener. Under her suggestions, I imagined myself stepping into an elevator on the 25th floor and going down, one floor at a time, watching the indicator as the numbers counted down. By the time I got to 10 I could literally feel the elevator’s movement and hear the electronic ‘ding’ as it passed each floor.

The elevator door opened and I found myself in a cavernous room flooded with soothing white light. The walls, the comfortable padded daybed and end tables, and everything else in the room was also white. “This,” Sara’s voice said, “is your zero room, Nick. Inside these walls, the outside world does not exist. You can say anything you want to, do anything you wish, and nobody will know or care except you and me. These walls cannot be breached by stress, or anger, or any of the frustrations of your waking life; in here you can examine these things dispassionately, understanding yourself and your world, and gaining the strength and confidence you need to handle all of your challenges.”

I understood perfectly, of course. My zero room was my safe haven, a place where I could just relax and listen to Sara Jane’s voice, floating and drifting. I knew that I would always be able to come here whenever I wished, and I would always feel refreshed, content and energized when I left it. I was happy that Sara had helped me to find my zero room. I drifted in there for a while, listening to more suggestions—things I didn’t have to remember if I didn’t want to, so I didn’t—and enjoying the soothing atmosphere of my zero room.

After a while, though, Sara told me it was time to come back. I got into the elevator and rode it back up to the top floor. This time when the doors opened, so did my eyes. I was back in my living room, slouched deeply into my easy chair, wide awake and listening to silence.

I felt like a million bucks: stress-free, confident, totally in charge. My vision seemed sharper, my hearing more keen, as if I was truly awake for the first time in a long while. The greatest thing about it was that the feeling stayed with me. I got more done at work the next morning than I usually manage in a day, and the things that normally grind me down didn’t seem to matter so much.

I listened to my new MP3 every evening after work, and by the end of the second week people were starting to comment on the changes. My concentration was better; I smiled more often and laughed easily; and instead of feeling drained at the end of the day, I had energy left over for those myriad things that I never seemed to get around to before like laundry, cooking, and minor household repairs. That weekend I broke out the golf clubs for the first time in about six months and hit the driving range for a while, with impressive (for me) results.

All the while Sara never strayed far from my inner thoughts. I owed her something for the help she and her Mistress had offered, but what? A gift in kind seemed like the best answer.

I spent a Sunday afternoon going through my collection of hypnosis books and tapes. Back when my hypnofetish was in full bloom I’d persuaded my then girlfriend to let me try an induction or two; the basic suggestions we’d tried had worked reasonably well. Perhaps I was flattering myself that I could do anything for Sara in that way, but I figured it was worth a try.

The biggest problem, I soon realized, was that I knew almost nothing about Sara. Her voice sounded young, but disembodied voices are tricky things—she could be anywhere from 16 to 40 and still sound 25 to me. I recognized the name “Sara Jane Smith” and the “zero room” concept from the TV series Doctor Who, suggesting that Sara was a fellow science fiction fan. She’d mentioned a Mistress, but no details of the relationship. Was she a submissive? An apprentice? Both?

In the end I pooled what I did know, and what I thought I could safely assume, and wrote a script similar to the one she’d given me: a no-frills induction followed by a more imaginative deepener, a few generic suggestions just to reinforce the pleasant experience, and a gentle wakeup. Sara had a professional Mistress to guide her but I didn’t, so I steered well clear of anything that might be construed as amateur therapy. I practiced reading the script until I could deliver it smoothly, in the measured pace that worked well for me. I bought a new condenser microphone for my PC, and after a few practice recordings I had one that sounded good. I converted it to MP3 format and sent it attached to a long-overdue email.

Dear Sara,

I can’t thank you and your Mistress enough for the wonderful MP3 you made for me. I’ve been listening to it daily and it’s made a tremendous difference in my concentration, stress levels, and enjoyment of life.

There’s nothing I can offer you that would be of comparable value, but I did put together the attached MP3 for you. I’m nowhere near as experienced with this as you are, but I hope you will find it enjoyable.

Yours,

Nick

A few days later the reply came.

Dear Nick,

What a surprise! The MP3 you made is very good, it gives me a nice dreamy feeling to listen to it. Mistress listened to it as well and she is impressed .. she says you could be very good at this with the proper training.

Mistress and I made another MP3 for you. This one is meant to be an occasional treat; keep your regular one for every day. To get the best results you should use this one lying down and with stereo headphones. Also, make sure you are home alone and won’t be disturbed for a while. I think you’ll enjoy it.

Sara

The attachment was called nick2.mp3 and was huge—good thing my ISP doesn’t limit the size of email attachments. It wouldn’t fit in my portable player without erasing a lot of the tracks already in it first, so I tried something different. I keep the PC in the bedroom anyway, mostly because the living room is too full of other gear to make room for it, so I took the good headphones from my living room stereo and plugged them into the back of the PC. The extension cord gave me enough length to lie on the bed, my cordless mouse by my side. Moving the mouse over my leg, I pulled up WinAMP and started playing the new file.

Sara’s voice filled my head immediately, a soft echo seeming to melt her words into the folds of my brain. “Take a deep breath, Nick, and relax. Close your eyes for me, and come back to your zero room ... " That did it; faster than you could say “posthypnotic suggestion” I was deeply relaxed and entering my zero room. The soft white light surrounded me and comforted me as it always had. Sara’s voice was still with me, speaking ever so faintly in the background. I could understand her words but it wasn’t important to pay close attention or to remember them.

I was just settling down onto the white leather sofa in my zero room when I suddenly heard Sara shout, “Awake!” With a start I opened my eyes and was back in my bedroom, a little shaken from the abrupt transition. I started to sit up, but she spoke to me again and everything slipped away, taking me back to my zero room. Sara’s voice was waiting for me there, telling me I’d done well, coming deeper and faster each time. Then, before I could assimilate what she was saying, I was awake again on my bed. Again I started to sit up, only to hear Sara speak and find myself dropping again into the zero room. The drop was so fast I could feel it in my stomach, like when an elevator suddenly lurches down.

The cycle continued, with Sara waking me up quickly and then just as rapidly pulling me back down, until I completely lost track of what was going on. My eyes would open and I’d see the bedroom, but I don’t think I was truly awake. All I knew was that each time Sara spoke to me I got pulled back into my zero room more rapidly than the time before, and each time I wanted less and less to leave it again. A word floated through my head—“fractionation”—but my analyzing mind was in no shape to process it.

Finally, after an eternity of up and down, I found myself stretched out on the couch of my zero room. It felt so good just to relax there and listen to Sara. Her voice came back to me, stronger than usual, reverberating through my fogged brain.

“You’ve done very well, Nick,” she said. “You’ve reached a level of hypnosis so deep, so satisfying, that you can do anything your mind can imagine. You’ve worked very hard, and I have a reward for you. To your left, next to the sofa in your zero room, is a massage table. Take off your clothes and lie down on the table, Nick, and I will give you a wonderful, relaxing massage.”

I looked to my left, and sure enough there was a massage table there, all set up and ready to go. My clothes fell away from me easily as I stood up and approached the massage table. At Sara’s instruction I climbed onto the table face down and closed my eyes. I felt Sara’s presence as she approached the table, then a pair of warm, caring, expert hands began massaging my neck and back. It never occurred to me to open my eyes, I just relaxed and relished the sensations of her touch.

She worked my neck and shoulders until they turned to rubber, then continued down my back using the perfect touch and just the right amount of pressure, her voice in the background the whole time whispering words my memory wouldn’t hold onto. She stopped at the base of my spine and started on my feet, then worked her way up my legs. As she got to the thighs and I began to feel my genitals reacting to her sensuous touch; when she began kneading the flesh of my buttocks I moaned aloud with the pleasure she brought me.

“Turn over now.”

I did it without a second thought, knowing full well that it would expose my fully erect cock to her view. That didn’t matter; this was Sara, and she was taking care of me. I didn’t even bother to open my eyes, I just let my head fall back as I felt her hands begin massaging my temples. My cock grew harder by the minute as her hands crept down my body, over the stomach, then up the legs.

Then, when I thought I couldn’t take any more, I felt her oily hand close around my shaft. The feeling as she pumped it up and down was exquisite. Her voice told me that it was okay to come, that I would enjoy coming for her, so I did, letting my seed fly while she pumped me dry. I felt a tender kiss on my cheek and I drifted away.

Some time later I opened my eyes and found myself back in my bedroom, dazed and more than a little disoriented. When I realized I wasn’t about to be called back to my zero room, I truly woke up and looked around.

It had been 45 minutes since I’d started the MP3. I was still on the bed, still wearing the sweats I had put on before checking my email, but my sweat pants had a dark, sticky patch in the front—the massage may have been an illusion, but my reaction to it had been quite real.

Dear Sara,

I just listened to the new MP3 for the first time.

In the immortal words of Keanu Reeves: “Whoa!” That was an incredible experience. I had no idea a hypnotic fantasy could feel so completely real. There’s no way I can come close to reciprocating, although I suspect I’ll give it a try anyway because “Thank you” just doesn’t cover it.

Yours,

Nick

I spent my evenings in study, going through my hypnosis texts looking for clues on how to induce the kind of vivid hallucinations I’d experienced while in Sara’s thrall. The biggest challenge, I realized, was that with a recording there could be no feedback, no chance to adjust the pace or measure her depth of trance. In the end, my best source of information was the MP3 itself; by skipping the first half or so I was able to listen to Sara’s suggestions without slipping into trance and repeating the experience. I noticed patterns in her speech: words and phrases repeated often, with almost identical tone and emphasis, that even in a waking state I found myself wanting to react to. Chances were she’d picked up those patterns from her Mistress, so if I could mimic those they would probably be very effective for Sara. I practiced saying those phrases into my voice recorder and playing them back, checking my inflection against Sara’s, until it sounded just right. It was surprisingly easy; the correct phrasing and intonation came very naturally to me.

Next it was time to write the script. I put more effort into that script than any term paper or client proposal I’ve ever done, but it was worth it to me if I could achieve the desired result. Once I was happy with the text I practiced delivering it smoothly.

Finally, about a week after I’d started working on it, I was ready to record. I went through the apartment turning off everything that might make background noise, even the air conditioning. I unplugged the house phones and switched off the cell phone and pager. For mood more than anything else I turned off the lights too, leaving only the glow of my flat-panel display illuminating the area. I set the condenser microphone close to me, pointed directly at my face, and read from the computer screen.

The session began with the usual preface: get comfortable, remove any tight or restrictive clothing, clear your mind, etc. Then I instructed Sara to pick a spot on the wall and focus her concentration on it, noticing everything there was to notice about that spot, and begin counting backwards from 500. Then I began a progressive relaxation, interrupting it every so often to mention how tired her eyes were becoming, how heavy the lids were, how often they felt the need to blink. As I read, I felt my own eyes becoming tired and I let myself relax, drifting into a light trance of my own as I read the script.

After the standard induction, which I’d largely cribbed from a hypnotherapist’s web site, I went into a deepener I’d written myself. “And now,” I said her, “as you lie there so deeply relaxed, I want you to imagine that you are taking a nice, soothing, comforting bubble bath. The water is just the way you like it: not too hot, not too cold, a wonderfully soothing, relaxing presence that surrounds you and supports your body. I’m going to count down from 10 now, and as I do you’re going to notice that the your body becomes lighter and lighter as the water surrounds and supports you, lifting you, letting you float freely and safely in your tub. With each count your body becomes more weightless, more relaxed, more free, and as your body becomes even more deeply relaxed, you’ll find that your mind becomes even more deeply relaxed. Ten ... ”

I counted down slowly, reminding Sara between each count that her body was becoming lighter and more relaxed, and her mind doing the same. “More deeply relaxed” was one of the key phrases and I used it liberally, hopefully taking her gently into a very deep state.

“ ... One,” I continued. “Your body floats freely in the bathtub, Sara, completely weightless, completely relaxed, with nothing in the world to think about or wonder about except how very much you enjoy this feeling.

“And now that you are so completely relaxed, you can let yourself experience the sensual pleasures that you know I want to bring you. Even now, as you float so freely in your tub with your eyes closed, you can sense me standing over you, admiring you, envious of how beautifully, deeply relaxed you are. And as you sense me standing over you, you also sense the first stirrings of arousal in the private places of your body, but you are too deeply relaxed to do anything but enjoy the sensations.”

I paused a few seconds before going on to the next step. “And now, Sara, it is time to come out of your bath tub. But you look so beautiful, so deeply relaxed, that I can’t bring myself to wake you yet. Instead, I’m going to count to three and on the count of three, I’m going to lift your deeply relaxed, peaceful, light body out of the tub and carry you in my arms to your bed. You will know that you are safe and secure in my arms, that you can trust me completely to take care of you.”

I did a slow three count. “And now, Sara, you can feel me lifting you out of the tub, your body so limp, so deeply relaxed, so safe and secure in my arms. You feel my arms under you, holding you, supporting you. You feel the slight sway as I walk you to your bed. You feel the skin of my bare chest against your side, my body warming yours. You feel the welcoming touch of a big, soft bath towel under you as I lay you down on your bed.”

Here was the tricky part. Fingers crossed, I continued reading. “And as you lie there now on your bed, you become aware that we are not alone. Your Mistress is here with us, watching us, approving of what we are doing. She wants me to bring you pleasure, Sara. Listen to your Mistress now, hear her speak the words that send you into your deepest, most wonderful trance, so deep you can barely move, so deep you can barely speak, so deep you don’t need to do anything but focus on the pleasure I am going to bring you.” I was assuming a lot here, but it felt right. If it worked, then at this point in the listening Sara would much deeper than I’d be able to take her without direct feedback.

“As you lie there in such a beautiful, deep state of relaxation, Sara, I am going to dry your body. Feel me patting your skin gently with a nice, plush, soft towel. I start at your feet, lovingly patting them dry, kissing them. Then I move up your legs, to your knees, to your thighs ...” Almost like another progressive relaxation, I talked her through my drying her body with an imaginary towel. As I addressed each body part, I told her I was kissing it, caressing it, bringing it pleasure, and that the pleasure was making her body feel more and more aroused. I took my time, especially with her breasts and her center, telling her that she was so aroused and so sensitive that every touch would be ten times as pleasurable as anything before.

At last it was time for the grand finale. “As you lie there, Sara, your body tingling with the arousal that my touch has brought you, I find myself almost overcome with desire for you. You are so sexy, Sara, so very irresistible, that I must have you. At the count of three, I am going to crawl up on the bed between your legs and pleasure you with my mouth and tongue. You will show me exactly where you like to be kissed, licked, caressed, and teased to bring you the maximum possible pleasure. I will touch all of your favorite places in exactly the right way, so that very soon you will have the most powerful, pleasurable, totally satisfying orgasm you have ever had. You will continue to come as often as you want; I won’t get tired and I won’t stop until you want me to. When you do want me to stop, just say ‘Thank you, Nick’; you will orgasm one more time, and then you will fall into a peaceful, natural sleep. When you awaken from that sleep you will be back in your normal waking state, feeling completely satisfied and contented.” I reinforced the suggestions several more times, then did a final slow three count. If I’d done it right, Sara’s subconscious would take over from there and give her a hell of a ride.

The reply came late the next day:

Dear Nick,

In the immortal words of Meg Ryan: “Yes! ... Yes!! .. YES!!! ... YEESSSSS!!!!” That MP3 was unbelievable! Mistress says I thrashed around on the bed for half an hour after the playback ended, squealing and moaning until I fainted.

She also says that you absolutely must come to visit us; she very much wants to see you, and after this experience I absolutely have to. We share a nice, big house just outside of Raleigh; you can fly down and I’ll meet you at the airport. You won’t need a hotel—you won’t even need clothes if I get my way. Please say you’ll come.

Very definitely yours,

Sara

It was a very tempting invitation even without the clothing-optional clause. A quick check online told me that flights from Baltimore to Raleigh were cheap and frequent enough that an impulse trip was workable if I wanted to clear my schedule for a few days.

Still, there were complications. For one thing, I had myself pretty well booked for the next several weeks. Being an independent consultant, in theory I can take time off whenever I want; but in practice if I want to hold onto my clients I need to be available when they want me.

Then there was the brains issue. If someone I knew came up to me and said, “Hey, Nick, I’m thinking about taking a plane to North Carolina to meet up with someone I know almost nothing about because we’ve exchanged some really hot MP3 files over the Internet,” how would I respond? I’d tell him he’s nuts, of course. I didn’t even know Sara’s real name, let alone anything that would allow me to make even the most rudimentary check on her. I’d be going completely on faith that the real Sara was something close to the mental image I had of her from her voice—an image formed largely under the influence of hypnosis at that. As much as my libido wanted me to jump on a plane that night, my common sense said to wait, think this out, try to get to know her a little more before committing.

I spent an hour trying to put those thoughts into an email I could send Sara. About six drafts were written and then discarded before I gave up on it. I thought about Sara every day, especially after listening to my regular relaxation/concentration MP3, but I came no closer to making a decision or figuring out how to express my reservations to her.

That went on for over a week. Then came a Wednesday night, at about 11:15. I was in bed asleep, as usual—he who gets up at 5:30 to run before work learns to go to bed by 10:30—when the phone rang. Half asleep, I groped for the phone, which was the base unit to my cordless. Of course I’d left the handset in the living room, so my fingers fell on the hands free button.

“Hello?” I mumbled.

There was a pause, and then an oddly familiar voice. “Hello ... Nick?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Sara. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah.” I’m a much better conversationalist when I’m awake, I swear.

“I’m sorry,” she said sweetly. “I forgot about how early you get up.”

I grunted something unintelligible.

“You sound distant, Nick. Are you on a speakerphone?”

“Yeah.” I was starting to wake up. “Who did you say you were?”

“You were asleep, weren’t you?” the voice said. “Listen to my voice, Nick. It’s Sara Jane. Your MP3 penpal.”

Finally, the spark plugs in my head began to fire and my brain sputtered grudgingly to life. “Of course,” I said, recognizing the voice at last. “I’m sorry. I was dead asleep, and it never even occurred to me that you would be calling. ... Why are you calling, anyway?”

“You never answered my last email,” she replied. “About coming to visit. Don’t you want to meet, Nick?”

“Sure! ... I mean ... well ... ”

“I think I understand,” she said, her voice taking on that sweet, sleepy cadence that I’d heard in the MP3’s. “Why don’t you come back to your zero room, Nick, and we can talk about it there?”

Just like that my eyes slammed shut and I found myself zooming downward in my private elevator. Confusion was replaced by calm as the doors slid open and I stepped into my sanctuary. I was dimly aware of Sara’s voice in the background guiding me deeper and deeper into trance.

I walked over to the white leather sofa and settled into it, lying down with my feet propped up on one arm and my head at the other, fully supported by pillows. I sensed Sara coming to sit behind me in a separate chair, but I couldn’t see her without twisting around and I was too comfortable to do that.

“Now then, Nick,” she said, her voice becoming loud enough for me to hear easily. “Here we are in your zero room, your sanctuary. Whatever comes into your mind, you can just go ahead and say it. There’s no need to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings or sounding like a bad person, because this is your special place. Is it okay with you if we talk in here, Nick?”

“Yes,” I said, staring up at the smooth white ceiling.

“That’s good. On the phone, it sounded as though you have doubts about coming to see me. Are you uncomfortable with something, Nick?”

The words came out of my lips unreviewed by my brain. “Yes,” I replied. “I’m nervous because I don’t know anything about you. You could be anybody. You might be somebody who wants to hurt me or use me badly.”

Sara’s voice was gentle and reassuring. “You’re absolutely right to be cautious, Nick. Would you like me to tell you some things about myself now, so you can feel more confident about who I am?”

“Yes, please.”

“My real name is Sara Jane Douglas,” she said. “I’m 27 years old, and I live with my Mistress in her house outside Raleigh. I work from home as a freelance Web designer. I have a cat named Lovecraft whom I spoil shamelessly. I’ve been married and divorced once and had lovers of both sexes. I don’t have any medical conditions that could harm you, and neither does Mistress. I think you’re a fascinating man, Nick, and I very much want to meet you, to hold and be held by you, and to make love with you in person. Do you want that too?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, then. Thank you for trusting me, Nick. It’s time to come back up now, back to reality.”

On cue, I rose from the couch and stepped into the elevator, leaving my zero room behind. My eyes opened and I was back in my bed.

“Feeling better?”

I’d forgotten about the phone, but Sara was still there. “Yes,” I answered, thinking about it to be sure. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you those things without hurting your feelings. So I guess the real question is, how are you?”

“I’m just fine,” she said. “I understand completely, and I still want to meet you. I hope you’ll come down when you can. For now, I think I’d better let you go back to sleep. Goodnight, Nick.”

Before I could answer, there was a click and the phone went dead. I rolled over and the memory of a sweet voice rocked me back to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, my first thought was that I’d had a bizarre dream about a late night phone call from Sara. Out of curiosity I went to the kitchen and checked the Caller ID box: my last incoming call, at 11:17 the night before, had come from a number in the 919 area code.

I stole five minutes after my run to send off a quick email.

Dear Sara Jane,

I came this close to calling you at 5:30 this morning when I got up—turnabout is fair play, after all! (:

Instead, I just want to thank you for the personal tidbits; they do give me a much better feeling about meeting you and your Mistress. I have a couple of less-hectic-than-usual days coming early in the week. With a little shuffling, I can probably craft myself a long weekend. Is this weekend too soon?

Nick

During the day I checked the email almost compulsively. Sara’s reply came in late in the morning.

Nick,

You can call me at 5:30 if you want to, but I don’t promise to be coherent before 8:00. That’s one of the hazards of working from home. ;)

This weekend is just great. Mistress is delighted, and I’m ... well, let’s just say you’re going to get a very warm welcome!

Sara

As soon as I read that I started rearranging my schedule. It didn’t even occur to me until later to wonder how Sara had gotten my phone number in the first place. An online phone book? Perhaps. I’d have to ask her some time. The question got lost in the bustle of preparing for the trip.