The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Things never go completely as planned; my flight was delayed for over two hours getting into BWI. As a result, instead of landing at Raleigh-Durham International at a reasonable 8:00pm, it was almost 10:30 when we finally touched down. I was disappointed because the darkness kept me from seeing much of Raleigh from the air—just lights, highways, and a few buildings that stood out from the pack. At least I had a chance to email Sara from BWI, so she wouldn’t have been waiting all night for me.

My heart raced as I followed the thin crowd up the jetway to the terminal. When I’d sent Sara my flight information she’d replied that she would be waiting for me in the terminal. How would I know her? She said to have faith, I’d know when I saw her.

She was right. Almost as soon as I cleared the jetway, my eye fell on a young lady sitting off to one side. She was maybe a touch under average height, well-rounded in a Rubenesque way, with long black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. The giveaway was her clothing: a long denim skirt and a white T-shirt that featured a black and white hypno-swirl over each breast.

Grinning and chuckling to myself, I approached the girl. “You have to be Sara Jane,” I said.

She stood up, grinned back, and hugged me. “I told you you’d know when you saw me,” she replied.

I returned the hug with relish, savoring the physical contact for a few minutes, before suggesting we make our way to Baggage Claim.

Sara backed up and looked at me in mock rebuke. “You brought clothes?”

Grinning again, I shrugged. “A few. I thought we might want to go out once or twice.”

“You didn’t warn me that you were high maintenance,” she quipped, then took my hand and led me to the baggage area. In due course my one suitcase put in an appearance; I grabbed it and followed Sara out of the terminal building. To my surprise, she led me to the taxi line. “It’s hard to tell at night,” she explained, “but they’re building a new parking structure to go with the new terminal. When they’re done it’ll be nice, but until then it’s an awful bear trying to park here and pick anyone up.”

As the taxi wound its way out of the airport I could make out the steel framing of the new parking garage. There were enough orange cones and temporary concrete barriers around that I understood why Sara chose a cab instead of driving herself. I would have, too.

I had no idea where we were or what direction we were going. Again, Sara filled me in. “We live in an area called Coachman’s Trail; it’s on the north side, up past Six Forks Road. Nice houses, lots of space, neighbors who prefer to live and let live.”

“Live and let live?” I joked. “But isn’t this Jesse Helms territory?”

Sara frowned. “Not our neighborhood.”

“Outstanding,” I said with approval. That put the smile back on her face.

In a little while the taxi stopped. The house was plain but inviting: a 3-story structure clad in sage green siding with darker doors and trim, surrounded by a good lawn. There was an attached 2-car garage and a smooth blacktop driveway leaving up to it. A concrete path led from the edge of the driveway to the front porch. The porch lights were on, but the windows were dark.

After a short debate, I won the right to pay the cab fare. Sara grabbed my suitcase and led the way inside.

The foyer was modest, a hardwood-floored landing large enough to accommodate a coat rack and a small desk, which seemed to serve mostly as a place to stockpile old mail and newspapers. The sunken living room to the left was furnished in plush leather and cherry—every seat in the room looked like something you could sink into and just sleep for days. Beyond the living room I could see the dining room jutting off to form the ubiquitous L shape. The kitchen looked to be just ahead, and beyond that a hallway ending in a closed door. Above the door a red light glowed.

“Rule number one,” Sara explained in a low voice, pointing to the door with the light. “That light means Mistress is in her study and is not to be disturbed for any reason. She may have someone in there with her, or she may be making a recording or trying to do a phone session; whatever it is, never interrupt.”

“Got it.”

I followed Sara into the kitchen, where she removed a bottle of sangria from the refrigerator and poured two glasses. With a soft whoosh, we settled into the depths of the living room sofa where we sipped our wine and made small talk. Lovecraft, a medium-sized gray cat with white stripes across his back, came over to make my acquaintance. Sara showed me his favorite ways to be petted and scratched and I practiced dutifully until he got up, yawned, and slinked over to Sara’s lap instead of mine.

I got the feeling Sara was waiting for something. When the wine glasses were empty, she took them back to the kitchen and returned by way of the front hall. Her expression seemed mildly anxious.

“Do Not Disturb sign still on?” I prompted.

Sara nodded. “Something unexpected must have come up; she said she really wanted to see you.”

“Why don’t you tell me about her?”

Sara’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I first met her about three years ago. I had just finished up a messy divorce—we married too young; I grew up and he didn’t—and was scrambling for rent money doing Web site design. Mistress was one of my first clients. When we met to discuss what she wanted in her web site, I looked into her eyes and listened to her voice and just drifted away. The next thing I knew it was two hours later, I was lying on a couch and Mistress was wiping tears from my face. She said I had a lot of sadness locked inside me that needed to come out. Over the following weeks she helped me to get through that, and I became hers. In the end, I made her two web sites: one for her regular practice, and one devoted to erotic hypnosis.” An idea struck her and she brightened. “Would you like to see it?”

“The web site? Sure.”

“Come on.” We scampered up the stairs to the second floor, which consisted mainly of a square landing with several doors around the perimeter. The stairs themselves continued up without us. “In here,” Sara said, leading me by the hand through a door on the left.

It had originally been a bedroom, I suppose, but the room we entered had been set up as a comfortable home office. The desk was a built-in made from kitchen countertop stock and supported by pedestals every few feet. There were box shelves above the desk holding books and software and providing attachment points for a series of small under-cabinet lights that illuminated the working area. A generic mini-tower computer occupied the far corner, where the counter was deep enough to accommodate its 19-inch monitor. There was a high-backed ergonomic chair complete with head rest and adjustable everything, a second less elaborate chair, and a futon available for seating.

Sara motioned me into the big chair, taking the smaller one for herself. The machine was already on and ready to go; I put my hand over the thumb-operated trackball and brought up Netscape.

The screen darkened, and a pair of penetrating blue-gray eyes slowly faded into view near the top. Music began playing in the background, slow, tuneless music that seemed to flow through my mind as text message faded in and out of view like the opening credits in a movie.

              Mistress Althea welcomes you ...

                     ... Relax ...

                ... All shall be well ...

 ... Let Mistress Althea soothe your mind and spirit ...

I was about to ask if that was all there was when a line of oval buttons appeared at the bottom of the screen. With Sara watching closely over my shoulder, I explored her creation. There were no photos of Mistress Althea, not even samples of her voice, but I did learn that she was a professional hypnotherapist, licensed in several states and in private practice for 18 years. There were the usual pages offering recorded hypnosis therapies, phone sessions, a series of pages with hypnosis-inducing graphics and text instructions to give people a chance to experience a light trance online—in short, the usual site features for a hypno-domme.

What struck me most about the site, however, was its tone. I’d visited a number of such sites in my day, and nearly all of them had a similar sort of attitude—the Mistress (or Goddess, or whatever title she preferred) was portrayed as an all-powerful being, enslaving the weak, willing males who longed to give themselves into Her control. It was that tone more than anything else that kept me from ever contacting a domme or ordering any recordings. But Mistress Althea’s site felt different; it was about healing, about coming to the Mistress for help and for mutual pleasure.

“This is very good,” I finally said, and heard Sara sigh contentedly. “She’s different from most of the dommes on the ‘net, isn’t she?”

“Very much so,” Sara concurred. “When you meet her, you’ll understand even better.”

“And when will that be?”

“It was supposed to be tonight,” she said, a little frown forming on her lips, “but it looks as though she’s gotten sidetracked. It may have to wait until morning.”

“I can wait up a bit,” I volunteered.

“Are you sure, Nick? You look like you may be getting tired.” Sara’s voice changed slightly with the question; it became slower, more rhythmic. It became the voice on the MP3’s. “So tired. So ready to just close your eyes and relax ... ”

A familiar, disconnected sort of feeling took hold of me as Sara spoke. My head sunk back against the headrest on the chair, and things began to grow distant. “Close your eyes now, and imagine my fingers slowly massaging your temples, drawing your thoughts away, relaxing you more and more, taking you to that sweet, dreamy state of hypnosis.” My eyes dropped shut and within a few seconds I did feel gentle fingers drawing slow circles on my temples. I stopped thinking and just let myself go, spiraling downward into a warm, soft fuzz.

“Time for bed, Nick,” Sara said. “Follow me.”

My eyes opened. My body, as if on remote control, rose from the chair and allowed Sara to lead it across the landing to a bedroom. My clothes came off somehow, and gentle hands eased me down onto the bed. Neither awake nor asleep, I watched lazily as Sara removed her clothing. I felt my body responding to her, my cock growing hard and straight as more of her body was revealed to me. By the time she climbed on the bed next to me and started gently running her hands along my torso, I ached for her.

She lifted my head and pulled me to a breast. I kissed and suckled hungrily, getting nothing out of it of course but putting iron in my extended cock. My arm found the energy to start exploring, feeling the other breast, working down to the warm spot between her legs, parting her outer lips and probing. Sara moaned and shifted, giving me a better angle and allowing me to slip a finger inside her. Her free hand went to my cock and pumped it.

I was on the point of orgasm when she stopped and climbed on top of me. She aligned herself over my waiting shaft and slipped down over it, taking me all the way inside. She wiggled her hips a little and locked us together.

“Look at me, Nick,” she said, back to her trance voice. “Look deeply into my eyes, and relax with me.”

My eyes found hers and then nothing else existed but those wonderful green eyes.

“That’s it,” she continued, “just keep looking deeply into my eyes, relaxing with me, as I count down from ten, becoming more relaxed, going deeper and deeper with each count, and now ten ... nine ... eight ... eyes staring deeply into mine, deep into my eyes, going deeper and deeper. ”

The urgency in my groin subsided as I relaxed further and further, my vision narrowing only to the soft green eyes hovering over me, drawing me in. As she reached the count of one my eyelids drooped, but I couldn’t let them close or I’d lose sight of Sara’s eyes.

“And now that I’ve counted down from ten, and we’re so relaxed, I’m going to count up again. Now as I count up from one to ten, we feel the pleasure building and growing in the place where our bodies are joined. With each count that pleasure doubles, with each count we can let ourselves enjoy the doubling of our passion and our pleasure, until I reach then and we both have our release. One ... two ... three ... feeling the pleasure doubling, doubling with each count, until we reach orgasm together at the count of ten .. four ... five ... six ... feels so good now, the pleasure growing, filling our senses, building towards the ultimate release ... " As she got closer to ten, Sara’s breathing picked up, and her voice took on an urgent, ragged undertone. “Eight ... oh! ... the pleasure ... uh .. growing, doubling again when I count nine ... oooooohhh .. and finally ... oh, boy ... come with me now ... as I reach ... ten! ... ”

Our bodies heaved as one with the force of our climax. We rocked back and forth, riding it out together, our moans slowing and then finally stopping. Sara slid off to the side and held me. We kissed for a few minutes, then she put a finger on my forehead and started tracing slow, lazy circles. I felt myself falling away again. “Sleep now, Nick,” she told me, and sleep I did.

I woke up in the morning with Sara snoring softly by my side and Lovecraft staring at me from the doorway with a look of detached curiosity. It took me a few minutes to remember where I was and how I’d gotten there. I looked at the sleeping figure next to me, so peaceful. I kissed her gently on the forehead, the nose, the lips, then worked my way down from there. When I reached a breast and started nuzzling at the nipple, I felt her hand touch the back of my neck.

“Stop that,” she said dreamily.

I looked into her sleepy eyes. “Do you really want me to?”

She let out a deep sigh. “No,” she confessed. “But I think we should get up anyway. We can fix breakfast before you meet Mistress.”

The shower was on the small side, so we took turns. When I came out Sara was wearing a soft terry robe. My things were still in my suitcase in the foyer, so I padded down the stairs wrapped in my bath towel and retrieved my suitcase, then pulled on a pair of sweats and an undershirt.

I put enough bacon for three on a tray in the oven while Sara fixed scrambled eggs. I was slicing bagels when I heard a rich, feminine voice.

“Good morning.”

I dropped the bagel and the knife and wheeled around, knowing before I saw her what she would look like: tall and slim, with sharp features, piercing blue-gray eyes, and long sandy-colored hair. Her hair was down today instead of tied back, and had a few streaks of silver in it. I’d never seen her in a white silk bathrobe before, but I had no problem recognizing her: Doctor Isobel Burns.

I stood there and gawked at her for what felt like ages, saying nothing. Meanwhile, puzzle pieces were dropping into place in my head. Sara knowing that I get up early and having my phone number, for instance. And why her MP3’s were so effective for me while professionally-made tapes were not: she’d learned from Isobel, and picked up on a lot of Isobel’s style; the same style that I’d found so easy to mimic back to her—no wonder, since my own subconscious knew it well.

She came over and hugged me, a warm smile on her face. “It’s good to see you again, Nick,” she said, looking me over. “You look well.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “So do you.”

Sara was beaming at me. “Surprised?”

I looked back and forth at the two of them. “Yes—though if I had any brains I probably shouldn’t be.”

Mistress/Isobel/Dr. Burns—I wasn’t sure how to think of her yet—gave me a sharp look. “If you didn’t have brains, you wouldn’t be here,” she told me. “Sara and I are fairly choosy about the company we keep.”

We settled around the kitchen table and had a nice, friendly breakfast. It was a little bit surreal sitting there like family eating and talking about airport construction and swapping horror stories about long-delayed flights. And all the while, despite my best efforts to control it, my eyes kept wandering to the slight gap in the white silk robe that opened up when its wearer sat down at the table. It embarrassed and confused me—there I was, sitting next to a woman I thought I was falling in love with, but I couldn’t stop trying to peek inside the bathrobe of someone else! Nobody said anything, but they had to have noticed. I ended up staring into my plate in an effort avoid making a complete chump of myself. Sara seemed mildly amused by this; she reached over and stroked my thigh for several minutes under the table.

Breakfast ended. I started to grab dishes off the table, but our hostess stopped me. “Sara, can you take care of the cleaning up? I think Nick and I need to talk in the study.”

Sara winked at me and smiled. “Sure,” she said. “I’ve got a few other things I need to take care of as well, so take your time.” The two women exchanged a look that carried another, unspoken message between them; I had no idea what it was.

The older woman stood and led me back to the room with the red light. She threw an extra switch before motioning me to a chair, taking the one opposite for herself.

“So tell me, Nick,” she said for openers, “How’s life treating you?”

I suppressed a chuckle as an old favorite line from Cheers came to mind: Like a baby treats a diaper. It was funny, but it wasn’t true. “Not too badly. I’ve got enough steady clients that I’m not hurting for work. I haven’t touched a cigarette since the last time we saw each other. I still run most mornings to keep in shape. All in all, can’t complain. You?”

She smiled and waved vaguely at the room. “Can’t complain either,” she said breezily. “I’m home again; Baltimore was nice for a year or two, but I’ve always been a Raleigh girl. My conventional practice is doing well, and my hypnoerotic work has brought me into contact with lots of fascinating people.”

She let that sink in for a moment. I sensed she was waiting for me to say something, but I wasn’t sure what. Finally, she gave me a little shove. “Why are you here, Nick?”

“Because you and Sara invited me,” I replied quickly, but I knew I wouldn’t get away with it.

Those penetrating eyes were locked on me, and I felt myself starting to disconnect a little bit—we were definitely in therapy mode. “Why did you accept?” she asked, quietly and firmly.

“I wanted to meet Sara,” I heard myself saying. “I might be falling in love with her.”

“And why do you think that?”

“She makes me feel so good ... so dreamy. And she has a sweet voice.”

“So you enjoy being hypnotized by her?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. “Nick, does being hypnotized by a woman arouse you?”

“Yes,” I answered automatically. “Anything relating to hypnosis is sexy to me. I’m getting aroused now, because I think I’m falling into a trance.”

“You’re not in a trance yet,” she assured me. “Right now, you’re operating under a posthypnotic suggestion that Sara placed in the recordings for you: to be totally open with me, to answer my questions without thinking and without worrying about how I might react. How long have you been interested in hypnosis, Nick?”

“Six years—since the first day you put me under. It was so erotic for me, listening to your voice and drifting away, letting you open my mind and change it for me. I used to get hard-ons in your office when you put me in trance, and I’d have sexual fantasies about you in between sessions.”

“I know that,” she said. I wasn’t surprised—at this point, I’d exhausted my capacity to be surprised—I just listened. “I knew it then, that you were getting aroused by the hypnosis. Many people find that hypnosis and sexuality are so strongly linked that they are difficult to separate; I feel that way myself, which is why I practice sexual hypnosis as Mistress Althea. I sensed that same feeling in you, back in Baltimore. But you were my patient, and were seeing someone at the time, so I never acted on it with you. Do you wish I had?”

“Very much.”

“Did you try introducing hypnosis into your other relationships?’

“I tried ... Shannon let me hypnotize her a couple of times, but I couldn’t get her very deep. She said it was nice, but she just wasn’t into it. We broke up a little while after that, and I never tried it again until Sara.”

“I see,” she said. “How many relationships did you have in that time?”

“A few, maybe three. Nothing deep or lasting.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it now. What does your heart tell you?”

I felt a slow churning, and something gurgled up from the depths of my mind. “It felt like something was missing. I wasn’t being totally open with them, and I suppose they sensed that. Angie said I seemed disinterested, like I was waiting for something better to come along.”

“And what does your heart tell you about Sara?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s not the same as the others; we’ve already opened our minds to each other, even before we actually met. There’s an excitement with Sara that I haven’t felt with anyone else ... except you.”

“Are you still attracted to me, Nick?”

“Oh, yes, very much. All through breakfast I kept trying to look inside your robe, no matter how hard I tried to stop. And that bothers me, because I don’t want to hurt Sara. My emotions want to be with Sara and love Sara, but my body keeps imagining what it might be like to be with you. ”

She rose slowly from her chair, came towards me and perched on the arm of mine. She took my right hand and placed it in her lap, tantalizingly close to the opening in the robe. “Suppose I told you that you can have both,” she said softly. “That you can love us both in whatever way your heart desires, and that we will both love you in return. What would you say to that, Nick?”

Her finger started tracing slow, lazy circles on my forehead. I felt myself starting to drift away. “Please,” I replied, my own voice growing distant. “I’d say, please.”

She took my hand from her lap and slipped it inside her robe, lifting it up until it cupped a soft, warm breast. A little shock ran through my body as I touched her, like a static jolt, and settled in my groin. I caressed her breast, exploring, getting to know at last what I’d fantasized about so many nights. And when I felt the nipple stand out, hard and proud, I let my hand wander in search of other pleasures. She spoke to me, softly, just at the edge of my awareness, and something changed: as I continued to explore, every place I touched her I felt a similar touch on my own body. I found the other breast, and an invisible hand played with the muscle on my own chest, teasing the nipple into erection. I slid down her smooth, firm stomach and the invisible hand followed. I sought out the warmth and wetness of her center, found it, and felt the arousing touch of another hand on my own genitals.

Mistress whispered to me, and I rose from the chair. My clothes came off, and the silk robe joined them on the floor. Mistress reclined on a padded leather lounge and pulled me down with her in a deep, passionate kiss. Her hand reached down and guided my hard-on to the place it so desperately wanted to go. I took turns kissing her neck and shoulder and suckling at her breasts as my hips moved on their own, working in rhythm to her increasing tempo of moans and the guiding pressure of her hands on my back. She spoke to me some more, getting me so hard, so ready, holding me right on the edge, until with a series of short cries she came. In between cries she gave the command and my body complied, my own orgasm coming with a fury unmatched even with Sara the night before.

The glow didn’t last very long. Mistress and I kissed one more time, and then some kind of dam burst inside me and a flood of confused, guilty feelings rushed forth. What the hell was I doing? What about Sara?

I started to pull away, but Mistress put a hand on the back of my neck and held me to her breast. She whispered soothing words in my ear, and I faded out.

When I came to I was alone on the therapy couch, in the classic pose of a psychoanalysis patient except I was still naked. Mistress, back in her white silk bathrobe, handed me a bottle of water from the small refrigerator under her desk and smiled as she opened one for herself. “How do you feel?”

I had to think about it for a minute. “Weird,” I finally said. “Lost. Confused. Guilty. ”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“Well, gee, let me think,” I replied sarcastically. “I come all the way down from Baltimore to meet Sara because I think I’m falling for her. We have a really great night together, and then first thing after breakfast I thank her by screwing her roommate.”

“And you feel that was wrong?”

“Of course it was wrong.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because I was hypnotized,” I began, but corrected myself immediately. “No, that’s just an excuse; I did it because I wanted to. It’s something I’ve been dreaming about off and on for the past six years, since the first time I saw you in Baltimore. So when you offered yourself to me, I jumped. I gave maybe half a thought to Sara, but I never even considered not doing it for her sake.”

Her eyes never left my face. “Suppose I told you that Sara is completely aware of what we were doing in here, and that she wanted it to happen as much as you and I did. Would that make a difference in how you feel now?”

I could feel my brain stretching, trying to make sense of it all. “I guess,” I finally replied. “This is very ... different ... from what I expected. Do you and Sara do this kind of thing often?”

“No, not often. From time to time we’ve invited others into our home and our beds, but you are the first person we’ve both felt so strongly about.”

“So you and Sara are lovers?”

“Certainly. ”

“But you also sleep with other people?”

“Sleep, eat, relate, converse, socialize ... sometimes we even make love with them. Sara and I believe that it is possible, and for some even natural, to have romantic feelings for more than just one other person. We also believe that it’s healthy to explore and act on those feelings, knowing that our love for each other doesn’t diminish just because we may also feel attracted to a third or even fourth person. In other words, we are polyamorous.”

“Polyamorous,” I repeated, letting the word sink in. “And bisexual?”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but the emphasis is on love, not on sex. We can and do have romantic feelings for people of either sex. We both have deep feelings about you, Nick. If you don’t mind, we intend to share you.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “This all feels very strange.”

“How is it strange, Nick? Half an hour ago you said yourself that you have strong feelings, for Sara and for me. Is it strange to allow you to exercise and enjoy all of those feelings, or does it make more sense to force you to deny one set of them because of an artificial constraint? Is it strange for the two of us to love you unconditionally, in tandem, or does it make more sense for one of us to deny that love? Think about it, Nick. Love is a great gift which grows the more it is shared. What better way to prove that?”

I was trying very hard to stay with it. “Intellectually, you make sense,” I said. “It’s not settling easily into the gut, though. This is not the way I was brought up to view relationships.”

Mistress was nodding sympathetically. “I know,” she assured me. “And I’d like to help you, but that truth is that I can’t. Not everyone falls easily into this lifestyle; each of us needs to examine who we are, and what we need, and make our own decision. I can help you find information, and Sara and I can both answer any questions you have, but in the end you have to choose your own path.”

I was starting to understand a little bit. “What are my options?”

Maybe not—Mistress shook her head slowly. “It’s best if you don’t think of this as a multiple-choice test, Nick. I’ll give you some information to read, to help you understand the lifestyle that Sara and I live. You tell us what you need and what you want, and we’ll do the same with you. Several paths may be open at that point, or maybe just one; we won’t know until we get there. The most important thing is that you keep talking to us. Open, honest communication is vital to any relationship, especially one like ours. Sara and I are both here for you, and we’ll respect whatever feelings you have and whatever choice you make.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I’m not sure I really understand what that choice is yet, but I appreciate that you’re being up front with me about it. There’s just so much I don’t know. I don’t even know what to call you.”

She smiled and handed me my clothes. “What have you been calling me in your fantasies?”

“Isobel.”

“Then call me that, or anything else that feels right to you, when we are alone or with Sara. I do ask that you address me as Mistress in front of clients, though; it’s important to maintain status with them.”

“Thank you, Isobel.”

She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Thank you, Nick.”

By the time I was dressed, Isobel had booted the PC on her desk and brought up Netscape. “I’ve bookmarked a number of sites with information on polyamory: essays, discussion groups, things like that. I also have some printed material if you prefer that, but the web sites are more current and have broader coverage.”

“Will I find answers in them?” I asked, taking the chair at the desk.

Isobel shook her head. “No, just information. The answers will come from within yourself.”

Isobel left me alone in her study, closing the door behind her as she left. I opened it again a crack, found the correct switch and turned off the Do Not Disturb light before sitting back down at the computer.

There were a lot of sites bookmarked; all of them had links to even more. Time passed without my awareness of it as I scanned essays and discussion boards, reading everything I could about polyamory and the people who practice it. At one point there was a soft knock on the door, and Sara peeked in. “Hungry?”

That broke the spell of the screen, and I realized that I was. “Yes, now that you mention it.” I started to get up, but Sara came in with a plate already in hand.

“Don’t get up,” she said. “I made you a sandwich. Hope you like turkey.”

It looked like a deli sandwich: thinly sliced turkey breast piled high on seven-grain bread with bacon, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise. There were even toothpicks holding the halves together. “It looks delicious,” I said truthfully. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” she replied.

I picked up half of the sandwich and took a healthy bite, savoring the fresh taste of the ingredients. Sara walked around the desk and started massaging my shoulders. I hadn’t noticed it yet myself, but they’d become stiff and slumped from spending hours fixated on the computer screen. Sara’s touch loosened me up nicely.

“Anything else I can do for you?” she asked after the sandwich and the massage were both finished.

“Have a seat and talk a little?” I suggested.

“Sure.” She pulled an extra chair around and sat next to me. As interesting as the web material was, I liked turning my back on the PC for a bit to talk with Sara.

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading about polyamory,” I began. “One theme that seems to keep cropping up is that each relationship is different; that it all depends on what the people involved really want.” Sara nodded, so I continued. “So ... what is it that you want? How do you hope this will end up?”

Sara took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mistress said you might ask me that. In the broadest sense, I want all three of us to be in a relationship that we all feel good about.”

“Do you see the three of us living together? Sleeping together?”

Sara answered slowly. “At this point, I really don’t have any expectations for what form that relationship might take. It would very nice, of course, to have you with us all the time, but I can’t demand that of you. As long as we can love each other, I suppose I’ll be satisfied.”

“What if I were to ask you—just you—to come back to Baltimore with me?”

She seemed prepared for that one, too. “I’d have to think about it,” she said. “I can tell you that monogamy is not in my nature—I tried it once, and it just wasn’t me. I’m happy now with who I am and who I love. I’ll be happier if you become part of that.” She was watching my face closely. “Does that make sense?”

I nodded. “It does. Sorry if I put you on the spot.”

“It’s okay,” she assured me. “As you can probably tell, I’d rehearsed that one a few times.”

“No complaints. Thank you ... for the lunch, for the massage, and for letting me grill you.”

Sara got up and kissed me. “Any time. I’m going to let you go back to reading now, but I’ll come back for you at six. Mistress and I want to take you out for dinner and a little entertainment.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Sara left after another kiss, and I lost myself once again in the hyperlinked world. When she came back to get me at 6:00, I’d pretty much reached the limit of what I could assimilate in one sitting.

I went back upstairs, showered the kinks out of my back from a day of sitting, and dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. Isobel and Sara approved my wardrobe; it blended well with their casual summer dresses and flat shoes.

“So,” I asked as we got underway in Isobel’s Volvo station wagon, “where are we going?”

“The Raleighwood movie theater,” Sara said. “We thought that after all that heavy research, you might enjoy putting your brain on standby for a little while.”

“Sounds like an inspired notion,” I agreed. “Dinner would be nice, too.”

“Taken care of,” Isobel assured me from the driver’s seat. “The Raleighwood is not your typical movie theater.”

Indeed, as I found out soon, it wasn’t. The Raleighwood doesn’t have the usual rows of seats in front of a huge screen; it has big, round tables and well-padded, swiveling chairs for the comfort of its patrons. We were seated by an attractive hostess and handed menus that reminded me of some of the high-class burger joints back home.

I ordered one of the house specialty burgers with fries and a tall glass of Killian’s Red. It appeared in impressively short order and was mouth-watering.

We ate mostly in silence at first, all of us hungry. Eventually we slowed down and started talking.

“Tell me about your research, Nick,” Isobel opened. “Any insights?”

“I’m still digesting most of it,” I confessed. “But so far, the number one rule of polyamory seems to be that there are no hard and fast rules. Everything can be negotiated until all parties are satisfied.”

Isobel and Sara both nodded agreement. “That’s why communication is so important,” Isobel explained. She seemed as though she was going to continue, but we were interrupted by the sudden arrival of two other women.

“Isobel! Sara!” said one of the newcomers. “It’s so good to see you again!” Her voice was loud and slightly flat, like a bad actor on stage. With exaggerated movements, she touched cheeks with my companions. Then, as if noticing me for the first time, she added, “And who is this delectable-looking morsel?”

Isobel made the introductions. “This is Nick, a friend of ours from Baltimore. Nick, this is Roz and Kristin.” She sounded friendly enough, but her eyes seemed less than thrilled.

Roz was the loud one; a gaunt, predatory-looking woman in a leather mini and tank top with a hair color that I’m positive cannot be found anywhere in nature—sort of a rusty red/purple hue. It was distinctive, at least. Kristin I found much more appealing. She was short, round, and pretty in a mousy sort of way. I noticed that she stayed a step behind Roz and to the left, her glances alternating between us and the back of Roz’s head, nodding a lot but saying nothing. I also noticed that she didn’t seem entirely comfortable that way.

“So what brings you down here, Nicky?” Roz asked me. The way she said ‘Nicky’ put my teeth on edge.

“Just visiting,” I said casually, returning her appraising gaze with a slightly bored one of my own.

“Well,” she came back, primarily to Isobel, ”do let me have a turn before you send him home, won’t you?” The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up at that.

“That’s entirely up to Nick,” Isobel answered quietly. “But being as he’s been in town less than a day, this is not a good time to have that discussion.”

Roz winked broadly. “I understand, of course. Just save me a piece is all I ask.” With one more leer in my direction, which I pointedly did not acknowledge, she led Kristin away to a distant table.

I did a slow 3-count before asking. “What the hell was that all about?”

Sara took my hand in hers. “This was not a good time for you to meet Roz,” she said. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“She’s a friend of yours?”

“No way.”

Isobel volunteered to explain. “Roz is not a friend of anyone’s, at least not in the true sense of the word. What she is, Nick, is a sexual predator. She considers herself polyamorous because she regularly sleeps with a number of different people—some know about it, some she deceives—— but I doubt she actually loves anyone. She’s particularly good as spotting someone weak or hurting and exploiting them for her own gratification.”

“Kristin is a friend of mine,” Sara said, taking up the thread. “She’s recently divorced and not handling it well. Roz has Kristin mostly convinced that she’s really a lesbian and that only Roz truly loves her, although not exclusively of course.”

“Kristin does not look particularly happy,” I observed. “Can’t you pry her out of the predator’s claws?”

“We’re trying, believe me. But Kristin has to want to get away, and right now she’s clinging to Roz because she doesn’t know who else she can trust. So we let her know in every way we can that we’re here for her, and hope that she’ll come to us when she’s ready.”

“And then?” I asked, unsettling pictures coming to my mind.

“And then we help her,” Isobel answered. “I offer to treat her professionally, or help her find a therapist she can work with to get over the emotional scarring from Roz and her ex. Sara offers friendship and emotional support.”

“But you wouldn’t ... " I couldn’t finish the question, but they knew what I was thinking.

Sara squeezed my hand and looked me in the eye. “Listen carefully, Nick: polyamory doesn’t mean we’re constantly on the make for new partners. We invited you down here because I’m falling in love with you; by coincidence, so is Mistress. That’s a rare and special thing—don’t confuse it with some kind of wanton lust, or the randy boredom that motivates Roz. I hope you can see how different we are from her.”

I took the hand that was clenching mine and kissed it. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. It’s hard to break the mold of what I’ve been taught to think, I guess.”

The house lights dimmed, and the movie started. I took advantage of the opportunity to put my brain in neutral, letting it puzzle things out while I lost myself in the movie.

It was a quiet trip home. My mind was occupied with questions I still couldn’t answer. What was my role in this developing relationship? Why did it bother me so much when Roz made that remark about getting a turn? Was I ever going to understand Isobel and Sara? What bed would I be sleeping in that night? Sara and Isobel saw I wasn’t in a mood for talking and let me be, chatting happily between themselves about the movie, Kristin, Roz, and life in general.

When we got to the house, the only conclusion I’d reached was that I was beat. “You look a little shell-shocked, Nick,” Isobel observed as we walked inside.

I shrugged. “I’ve had a lot to think about. My head is pounding.”

“Reached any conclusions?”

“I think I finally understand the question,” I replied slowly. “Now I just need to figure out the answer.”

“Understanding the question is an achievement in itself,” she told me.

With no better plan in mind, I found myself following them into the living room and plopping down into an easy chair. Sara pulled up an ottoman and sat down in front of me, picking up one of my feet and setting it in her lap. “You don’t have to do that,” I told her as she pulled off my shoe.

“I know,” she replied, and started massaging my foot.

My weary head fell back against the upper edge of the chair. Almost immediately I felt fingers begin to gently massage my temples. I cast my eyes upward and just caught sight of Isobel’s smiling face above and behind me. “Relax, Nick,” she told me. “Just pick a spot on the ceiling and watch it, and let us take care of you for a while.”

I knew what was going to happen, but I either couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything to stop it. Very soon my eyes closed and I felt myself drifting, floating on the stream of their voices. I felt my cock hardening in anticipation, but my body was too heavy and relaxed to do anything with it.

After a while my eyes opened. As if in a dream, I saw myself getting out of the chair. Sara took me by the hand and led me up the stairs to her bedroom, with Mistress right behind me. Sara helped me out of my clothes, setting them neatly aside for me and having me sit on the edge of the bed. She started to say something, but then Mistress came up behind her and placed her fingers on Sara’s temples. Sara’s mouth stopped moving and her face relaxed into a sleepy, contented smile.

At Mistress’s suggestion, I stood up to help Sara get undressed. I took the glasses from her face first, folding them carefully and setting them on the night stand. Then I walked around behind her, unzipped her dress, and let it fall off her shoulders to the floor. I paused a moment to put my arms around Sara and kiss her shoulder, then released the hooks on her bra and slipped it off. I cupped her breasts one in each hand, gently kneading them and kissing the nape of her neck while Sara sighed and moaned with each touch.

Mistress spoke again and I knew it was time to continue. I let my hands slip inside Sara’s panties and slowly peeled them down. They were already pleasantly moist from my efforts and the scent of her arousal filled my head, making me dizzy and putting fire in my loins. I helped Sara to lie down on the bed, rolled her over onto her back and straddled her. Mistress laid a hand on my back and I dropped, supporting my weight on my elbows, and began suckling at Sara’s delicious breasts. The tip of my cock teased her opening below while I moved from breast to breast, feeling the nipples tighten and stand out, kissing all over the breasts and in between. Mistress spoke to both of us, inflaming us with words we only partially heard, driving us into a passionate frenzy.

Finally Sara’s legs parted and I thrust myself inside. She groaned and wrapped her legs around me, pulling me in tighter, rocking me in and out, making my every nerve tingle. I was ready to come, I should have come already, but my body was waiting ... waiting for the signal.

I stayed in the saddle, rocking in rhythm with Sara, both of us teetering on the brink, waiting, until every muscle and fiber in my body was screaming for release. Finally, Mistress touched us each on the shoulder and our bodies exploded, gyrating together, holding on to each other as we came.

I rolled off of Sara, panting and heaving, at the end of my climax. My body felt heavy and spent; my mind was still in trance. I felt the bed compress slightly, then soothing fingers began softly caressing my chest. Mistress spoke to me, calming me, comforting me. Her hands relaxed me and quieted my pounding heart.

Then they began to have another effect. The stroking turned erotic. My eyes opened and I saw Mistress sitting beside me, naked. Her one hand continued to slide up and down my body while with the other she caressed herself. The sight of her nakedness rejuvenated my cock and it stood up, ready to serve her. My right hand found energy and used it to stroke her thigh, reaching up and in to find her sex. She shifted a little, giving me better access to please her, and I probed her slit with my fingers. Her lips were wet and slightly parted, enabling me to slip further in and feel through her folds for the pleasure points. Mistress grabbed my cock and stroked it, bringing intense pleasure even as I found her own sensitive spot.

We fingered each other, moaning and stroking, until Mistress was ready. She climbed atop me and plunged herself down over my anxious cock. She paused for a moment, shivering slightly with the sensation, and then we began our own rhythmic rocking. Our eyes met and locked, an electricity flowing between them that energized my body to her service. We moved together in an ever-increasing tempo, Mistress moaning more and more loudly, until finally she climaxed. Her muscles squeezed down on my shaft and she leaned back, pushing down just a little tighter, and my cock responded by pumping into her.

We stayed that way until the pleasure waves receded. Mistress beamed down at me, satisfaction and love in her face. She leaned down toward me, stretching her body out on top of mine, and favored me with a deep, lasting kiss. Then her fingers went back to my temples, she spoke softly and I drifted into sleep.

My sleep was fitful, full of disturbing dreams. In one, I was making love with Sara in her bedroom. There were thin black strings attached to all of my joints, and those strings were controlling all of my movements. At one point I looked up and saw Isobel holding the other end of the strings, her eyes burning brightly at me. In another dream, Roz discovered my hypnotic trigger and used it to take me, then wrapped me tightly in gray silken cord like a fly in a spider’s web.

The most disturbing, for me, was the one in which I entered the house to find Isobel, Sara, and two strangers—one man, one woman—engaged in a small-scale orgy in the living room. All four of them gave me a friendly greeting and told me to “Come on, join the fun,” but I couldn’t do it. Instead I tried to go to another room, but in the weird architecture of the dream every hallway and stairway led back to the living room, and to another friendly invitation to join the crowd. Although I continued to refuse to join the orgy, others kept coming into the house and diving right in until the living room was packed with naked, twisting, sweating bodies.

I woke up from that last one in a cold sweat. By the time I stopped panting, it was clear that I wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. I looked at Sara, snoring softly next to me. I peeked out the window: the sky was still dark but with that soft, optimistic glow that said it would be dawn soon. I could use a little optimism, so I decided to go for a run.

Creeping around quietly so as not to disturb Sara, I pulled on some clothes and padded softly down the stairs. Lovecraft followed me, a look of mild annoyance on his feline face. “What are you looking at?” I whispered crossly. Sara’s not going to like this, his expression seemed to say. I knew that already, so I just turned away from him and slipped out the back door.

I headed north, away from the center of town, letting my body take over and settle into its running rhythm. With no particular need to concentrate on my steps, I let myself fall into what I had come to think of as my runner’s trance: eyes ahead, on the lookout for anything requiring immediate attention, while the rest of my mind receded into the comfortable rhythm of the activity.

I often do my best thinking while running. Topic A for that morning was my nightmares and what they meant to me.

The first one was easy: while I may have had fantasies—okay, very strong fantasies—about being hypnotized and seduced, that didn’t mean I was ready to give up all initiative and become a bedroom puppet for Sara and Isobel’s pleasure. I wasn’t a submissive by nature; I just liked the idea of letting go once in a while. Would Sara and Isobel accept me as an equal rather than as a sub?

The Roz dream was also pretty easy to put to rest. She’d certainly made a strong impression on me, and an unpleasant one at that, but the bigger question was about someone other than Sara or Isobel trying to use the hypnotic triggers they’d placed in my head. From my own hypnosis reading and experience, I was pretty sure that even if Roz did walk up behind me and start stroking my temples the way Isobel and Sara do, I wouldn’t just drop into trance unless I’d decided I could trust her first. Still, I had been pretty quick to drop the night Sara phoned me out of the blue and hit me with the zero room trigger phrase. Why had my guard been so far down that night—because I was half asleep already, or maybe because of other suggestions in the MP3’s. There could easily be a lot of suggestions in my mind that I didn’t consciously remember. A frank discussion with Isobel was definitely in order.

The orgy dream was easily the most ominous of the bunch, because I recognized quickly that it was really about me. Was I secure enough to enter into a relationship that didn’t guarantee the exclusivity of my mates? If Sara fell in love with an additional guy—or girl, for that matter—could I accept that? Could I watch her hugging and snuggling (or more) with this new person, and not have to be constantly reassured that she didn’t love me any less? In my reading about jealousy, it was said pretty clearly that if one partner needs constant reassurance, the relationship just won’t work. In that regard, polyamory isn’t much different from monogamy. Could I pass that test?

Yes, you can, my inner voice told me. It all depends on what you really want.

So what did I really want? I wasn’t sure. All my life, I’d always assumed that at some point I’d find a nice woman, get married, have a family, the whole clichéd package. As much as I loved Sara and Isobel, this relationship clearly wouldn’t lead in that direction.

Excuse me, Nick, the voice interrupted. You’re 36 years old; if having a conventional wife and family is that important to you, why haven’t you done anything about it by now?

I just haven’t met the right woman yet ...

Bullshit, pal. Shannon would’ve married you, if you’d asked her. Angie got sick of waiting and proposed to you, you dumb-ass, and what did you say? “The timing doesn’t feel right.” If monogamous domestic bliss was really what you wanted, you could’ve found it with either of them.

So what did I really want?

I thought about Sara, peacefully sleeping back at the house. By conventional measures, probably too young for me—but conventions didn’t apply in this case. I pictured her smiling face at the airport, remembered her soft voice in my ears the first time I’d heard it, recalled the sweetness of our lovemaking. I had told Isobel that I felt an excitement with Sara that I hadn’t felt with anyone before. Did I love Sara? Absolutely.

I thought about Isobel, reentering my life years after inspiring so many sexual fantasies. The warmth, intelligence, and overall class that had drawn me to her six years before were still there, still powerful. The passion I felt around Isobel was different from what I had with Sara, but no less potent. Did I love Isobel? Absolutely.

So what did I really want?

I wanted to go home. My body turned smoothly and headed south, back toward the place where my lovers slept.

The house looked still when I got back to it and crept quietly in the rear door. Lovecraft met me on the stairs—— You again? his expression seemed to say—and followed me back to the bedroom, where Sara lay still and quiet on the bed. I kissed her forehead gently, then took my sweaty body into the bathroom to shower.

When I came out, Sara was gone. I pulled on some casual clothes and went looking for her. I found her in the kitchen, sipping hot tea from an oversized mug with pictures of cats all over it. I came up behind her silently, put my arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. Sara sighed and relaxed against me. “I was worried about you,” she reproved me quietly. “You just ran off without saying anything.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t sleep well; I had to run, and I had to think.”

“Did it help?”

“Yes, it did,” I replied. “It gave me a chance to decide what I really want.”

I could feel her holding her breath. “And did you?”

“I think so.” On an impulse, I put my fingers to her temples and began to draw slow, tight circles with them. “Close your eyes and relax,” I said, adopting the cadence I’d come to think of as my hypnotist’s voice. “Let yourself relax deeply for me, slipping easily into a deep trance, not worrying about anything at all except how good it feels to be so deeply relaxed.”

Sara let out a slow, quiet sigh. Her shoulders slumped, and her head rested more heavily on me as I stood behind her. With no plan in mind, I gave her deepening suggestions until she appeared on the verge of falling out of the chair.

Okay, Svengali, I thought to myself. Now what?

First things first, I decided. “Thank you, Sara, for going so easily into hypnosis for me. Knowing that you trust me this deeply means a lot to me. In the future, any time I ask you to go into hypnosis for me, you will only do so if you feel safe and comfortable about it. In the same way, you will always be able to disregard any suggestion I give you if it makes you feel uncomfortable or unsafe.”

At that point I could have started asking her questions, I suppose—what triggers had she given me, how did she envision the relationship working, that sort of thing. In the end, though, I decided that to do that would be a violation of the trust Sara had shown by letting me take her into trance in the first place. I needed to trust her, and to show her that she could trust me.

I kissed her on the top of the head. “And now, Sara, I’m going to count to three. When I reach three, you will be fully awake again, and you will know that I love you and trust you and want to be with you. One, two, three.”

Sara’s eyes fluttered open and a big, broad smile formed on her face. “I love you, too,” she said happily, then she stood up and joined me in a long, celebratory hug. That was when I noticed Isobel standing in the doorway watching us. She, too, had a satisfied look on her face.

“That was very nice,” she said approvingly.

I felt a small flush of nerves. “How much did you see?”

“Most of it,” she replied. “I heard you come in and thought I’d see how you were. Well, it seems.”

“Better now,” I agreed. “There are some things I need to discuss with you—both of you, really—but the bottom line is that I want to be part of your lives, and for the two of you to be part of mine.”

Isobel smiled happily. “That’s good news, Nick. Why don’t we discuss the details over breakfast?”

In due course a waffle iron appeared from under the counter, and I was nominated chef for the morning. I mixed up a basic waffle batter from the recipe on the flour bag, then threw in a touch each of cinnamon and nutmeg to add some extra flavor. Sara browned sausage links while Isobel set the table and prepared some fresh strawberries.

Once breakfast had been eaten, cleared and duly praised, both women turned their attention to me. “We’re all here,” Isobel observed, “and in a pretty mellow frame of mind. What things would you like to discuss, Nick?”

“Hmmm,” I said, thinking. “It’s hard to know where to begin.”

“Try the first thing that comes into your mind,” she suggested.

“Okay, here goes. I guess the biggest thing on my mind while I was running was the question of roles. Isobel, you’re clearly used to being the dominant partner; Sara calls you ‘Mistress’, and seems to defer to you on a lot of things; in our lovemaking especially, you have always been the one in control. I’ve certainly got no complaints about what we’ve done together this weekend, but I want to be more than just a puppet in bed.”

“You’d rather take the dominant role?” Isobel asked.

“Not always. I want balance, Isobel. The things you and Sara can do with my mind, with my body, are amazing; I want to do those things for you, and I want you to teach me how.”

Sara and Isobel exchanged a meaningful look. Both were smiling when they gazed back at me. “I think we can arrange that,” Isobel said.

“You’ll need lots of practice,” Sara added, winking.

I chuckled and shook my head. “That was a lot easier than I thought,” I remarked. “Isobel, you are an amazingly egalitarian domme.”

Isobel grinned back. “A lot of dommes do seem to have a need to control people,” she conceded, “even in the non-sexual parts of their lives. Personally, I’ve never been much for bowing and scraping. Mistress Althea is a role I play with clients, and often times in the bedroom. In everyday life, I’m content to be Isobel Burns.”

Sara chimed in. “I call her Mistress because I like to,” she explained, “not because I have to. It comes from respect and love.”

I found myself nodding. “I understand.”

“What else is on your mind?” Isobel prompted.

“My mind,” I replied, thinking about Roz. “Please understand, I trust you and Sara completely; but I’m a little spooked at how many back doors I may now have open in my mind. Is there any chance that ... someone else ... could use one them on me?”

“You mean someone like Roz,” Sara noted.

“The thought did cross my mind, after what she said last night.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Isobel assured me. “Hypnosis, in my opinion, is the most intimate act two people can do together. In order to work, it requires absolute trust. If someone you don’t trust tries to use a hypnotic suggestion you were given by me or by Sara, your mind will reject it easily.”

“Remember what you said to me before breakfast?” Sara asked. “About being able to ignore a suggestion if I felt unsafe or uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Do you realize where you learned that suggestion from?”

“Nowhere,” I replied, puzzled. “I wanted you to know you could trust me, and I pulled that suggestion out of thin air.”

“Not thin air, sweetie,” she countered. “You pulled it out of your own subconscious. Those exact words are in the first MP3 I made for you.”

As soon as she said it, I knew that it was true. So much for the Roz nightmare.

“Is there anything else?” Isobel asked.

I frowned a little, thinking about the orgy dream. “Nothing you can help with, I expect. The big unanswered question for me is, what’s going to happen the first time one of you wants to bring someone else into our circle? Will I be able to handle that, or will I go nuts? I think I’ll be all right, but we won’t know until it actually happens.”

“You’re right,” Isobel agreed. “Any time something like that happens, we are all tested. Things may change, or they may not. If we remember how we all feel about each other and keep communicating, then we can overcome any hurt. In the meantime, we can enjoy what we have.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I declared, raising my coffee mug for a toast.

It was too pretty a Sunday to stay inside, so Sara and Isobel took me on a daytime tour of Raleigh. We visited the Joel Lane museum house and rode a tour bus through the historic district. We had lunch at a comfortable café, then indulged in some window shopping at the outlet mall. Nothing remarkable happened, and nobody paid any particular attention to us; we were just three people doing the tourist thing on a sunny afternoon. It felt good to be out in public with Sara and Isobel, doing the normal things that friends and lovers do together. I think it helped me realize that the life I was choosing wasn’t really all that different from anyone else’s.

After a simple dinner at home, Isobel announced that she had a couple of phone sessions scheduled for the evening, so Sara and I would be on our own.

Sara grinned. “How ever will we fill the time?” she asked innocently, winking at me.

The answer, once Isobel retreated into her office and turned on the red ‘Do Not Disturb’ light, actually surprised me. Sara led me back to the living room and sat me on the couch, then opened a drawer in the end table nearest her end of the couch and handed me a velvet bag.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Open it and see.”

With Sara squirming and grinning, I opened the velvet bag and dumped its contents into my hand: a small, shining glass pendant on a black string. I looked at Sara quizzically.

“Lesson one,” she explained. “Inducing hypnosis by fixation object. Have you tried it before?”

“No ... the only times I’ve tried to hypnotize anyone I used progressive relaxation. Except for this morning, anyway.”

Sara nodded. “Then this will be a good technique to learn, assuming you still want to. Do you?”

I looked at the pendant, then at Sara’s expectant face. “Yes,” I answered easily. “I’d like to learn how to use this.”

Sara gave me a basic primer on how a fixation object works. I practiced holding the crystal at the right height, locating it so that it would catch the available light and create the right visual effect, keeping it moving so the subject would have to work to stay focused on it, while at the same time tiring out the eyes. At first I practiced on an imaginary subject in an empty chair. Lovecraft slinked in to see what we were about, so I tried to practice on him. When he left, unimpressed with my hypnotic prowess, Sara sat down in the practice chair and looked up at me expectantly. “My turn,” she declared.

I held the pendant in front of her face, high enough that she would have to strain slightly to see it, and began to swing it slowly in a circle. “Relax, Sara,” I said in my slow, easy, hypnotist voice. “Relax and stare at the shiny parts of the pendant. Fix your eyes on it, relax, and breathe in deeply, nice and deep, filling your lungs ... and now breathe out, letting your tensions go and your eyes focusing exclusively on the center of the pendant. And as you listen to the sound of my voice, breathing evenly and slowly, watching the pendant, concentrating on the pendant, you will find that your eyelids have a tendency to get heavy. Heavy, Sara ... so heavy, so tired, as if they had a heavy weight attached to them. And the longer you stare into the pendant, relaxing more and more, looking deeper and deeper, the more your eyelids get heavy, the more they need to blink.”

“Wait a sec,” Sara interrupted, “this isn’t working.”

I was crestfallen. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m having a hard time following the pendant the way you’re moving it,” she said. “Try moving it more slowly, in a smaller circle. Just do that for a minute, without talking, and I’ll let you know when it feels right.”

I tried a number of different movements: slower, smaller circles; swinging the pendant back and forth; holding it closer to, or farther from, her face. Then I tried letting the pendant hang still, but just rolling the string between my fingers. That put a slight spin on the teardrop-shaped glass, starting out slowly, speeding up, then slowing again as I reversed direction.

“Oooh,” Sara cooed, “that’s good. Keep doing that for a minute.” Her eyes locked easily onto the swirling, spinning pendant. “Yes,” she continued, her words coming more quietly and slowly. “That ... looks ... good ... ”

“Good,” I said, picking up the thread of my induction patter. “It looks very good, Sara. So pretty, so captivating, that you don’t want to look away. You can’t look away—your eyes are captured, locked on, held to the pendant as if by gravity itself. Your eyelids become heavy, so tired and heavy, wanting so much to close, but even more to keep gazing into the pendant, deeper and deeper, as it relaxes you more and more. Getting drowsier and sleepier and heavier every minute, every second. And you have a feeling now as if your sleepy, heavy, drowsy eyelids are slowly closing, slowly closing, getting drowsier and more tired with each breath, blinking heavily, not wanting to open but needing to. And you know that soon, when they blink, they will be too tired, too sleepy and drowsy, to even think about opening again. And you can find yourself imagining how good that will feel, how wonderfully soothing and comfortable it will feel when your eyes close and you can relax and let yourself go into deep hypnosis. So good, so comfortable. Feel your eyes closing now, Sara, closing, closing tightly, closing heavily, and notice how very good, how comfortable, how relaxed you are now that your eyes have tightly and comfortably closed. It’s a relief to finally have your eyes closed, your body relaxing all over, your head resting comfortably against the back of the chair.”

I watched with a growing hard-on as Sara’s eyes blinked heavily and closed. Her entire body melted into the chair and a huge, happy sigh escaped her lips.

We hadn’t really discussed what would happen after the induction, but I had ideas of my own. I took Sara through the standard staircase deepener, then tried a couple of convincers. Her arms became light and lifted up to the ceiling at my suggestion that helium balloons were tied to her wrists, then dropped again as I cut the imaginary string and took her deeper into trance. I told her that as she went deeper into hypnosis, my words would seem to come more slowly; then I deliberately slowed down my speech, convincing her mind that she was going deeper (which in turn made it so).

What to do then? I knew we needed to take things upstairs to avoid disturbing Isobel, who was still doing her phone sessions. I thought about trying somnambulism with Sara—she was certainly an experienced subject, so I was sure she could do it—but something more devious entered my mind.

“Sara,” I said softly. “I’m going to count to three, and on the count of three you will wake up feeling relaxed and ready for bed. You will go upstairs to use the bathroom and get yourself ready. When you come out of the bathroom and see me waiting for you, you will come over and start to hypnotize me by rubbing my temples. When you do, though, you will find that it actually hypnotizes you instead of me. Each little circle you draw on my temples will bring you deeper and deeper into hypnosis, until you reach the state you are in right now. You will then be totally open to my suggestions. Is this okay with you?”

Sara’s lips moved slowly, breathing a barely-audible “Yes.” I gave her a slow three count and smiled as her eyes opened to meet mine.

“Nice job,” she commended me. “I don’t remember a thing after the staircase.”

“You will,” I assured her. “I didn’t tell you not to.”

Sara stretched lazily and yawned. “I’m ready for bed,” she announced. “Are you coming?”

“After you.”

I used the downstairs bathroom while Sara trudged upstairs. When she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in her terry robe, I was sitting on the bed in my briefs waiting for her. A lusty smile came over her as she approached me.

“You were very good downstairs,” she said. “Now relax and let me do the work.” Her hands reached up to my head and I felt fingers touching my temples. My body relaxed instinctively, but curiosity about my own suggestion gave me the ability to stay awake. The fingers at my temples slowed down with each circle, and Sara’s eyes grew heavy and unfocused as she gazed at me. A small glimmer of realization passed across her face and she slumped forward.

I caught her and eased her onto the bed, then opened her robe and peeled off my briefs. I kissed her and fondled her and talked her into an orgasm, then climbed on top and slid myself inside her. We rocked together and I kept talking, this time to both of us, until our bodies responded and we came together. I had just tucked Sara in and was going to join her when I heard movement downstairs.

Grabbing Sara’s robe, I padded softly down the stairs. The study door was open and the red light was off; the bathroom door was closed, but showed light in the small gap underneath.

I knew what I would want if I’d just spent 3 hours on the phone, so I went to the kitchen and poured Isobel a tall glass of iced tea. I took it back to the study and set it down next to the desk.

“Is that you, Nick?” I heard her say as she returned to the study.

“In the flesh,” I answered, grinning. I pointed toward the tea. “Thought you could use that.”

Isobel shot me a grateful look, grabbed the glass, and took a long pull. “That was a wonderful thing to do,” she said. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Mistress.”

Isobel took her glass and sat down on the therapy couch. “Where is Sara?”

“Upstairs, asleep.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly. “I take it you found some way to pass the time, then.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, hefting the velvet bag I’d retrieved from the living room. “Sara taught me a new technique.”

Isobel smiled again and set down the glass. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve learned?”

That was a surprise. “Are you sure?”

Her eyes met mine. I saw certainty, and a trace of lust, in them. “Practice makes perfect,” she remarked, and waited expectantly.

So I practiced. I removed the pendant from the bag and held it up just above eye level, twirling it on the string in the way that had worked so well for Sara. It was just as effective on Isobel: the twirling crystal picked up light from her desk lamp and sparkled, capturing her gaze and pulling her in beautifully. I watched her eyes become heavy in response to my suggestions, blinking sleepily, glazing over, then finally closing with a sigh. I used the same deepening techniques that I’d used with Sara, and in a few minutes Isobel was completely limp and loose on the couch.

“Tell me something, Isobel,” I said softly. “Are you deep enough in hypnosis to get up and move around without disturbing your trance?”

“Somnambulism,” she mumbled. “Yes, plenty deep enough.”

“Good. Isobel, I want you to open your eyes now but remain in deep hypnosis.” Her eyes opened slowly and stared straight ahead. “Now, I want you to get up and stand still for me while I remove your clothing. You’ll find that your body will move as much as you need it to while still remaining deeply relaxed, and with every piece of clothing I remove from your body you will feel yourself growing even more deeply relaxed. ”

I watched with growing arousal as Isobel slowly stood up and faced me. She was wearing a button-down shirt, slacks, and comfortable shoes. I was able to undress her easily, giving her simple commands to step out of the pants and underwear after I pulled them down, until she stood nude in front of me.

I took a few minutes to admire her body, which was as elegantly beautiful naked as she was in clothes. I ran my hands over her, talking her into increasing arousal with each touch, memorizing her curves and smells and taste.

Taste ... I hadn’t tasted her yet. No time like the present, I decided. I had her lie back on the therapy couch, legs apart, and adored her. She responded to my lips and tongue in a most satisfying way, moaning and squeezing my head between her thighs, her body begging for more as she climaxed several times. When she finally moaned, “Enough, please,” I relented and allowed her to drift into a pleasant, refreshing sleep.

I could get used to this, I thought as I went up to bed.